


Under Your Skin

by waitingondaisies



Series: Harry & Snape Gen Fic [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Challenge Response, Character Study, Gen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Impersonation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Torture, Website: Potions and Snitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22366612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingondaisies/pseuds/waitingondaisies
Summary: After a disastrous fifth-year Potions class with Potter, Severus discovers that Potter is being tortured by Umbridge. With Dumbledore evicted from Hogwarts, there’s little Severus can do to keep his oath to protect Potter. That is, until Severus is given the troubling news that Umbridge has given Potter another detention, thus compelling him to take Potter’s place.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape
Series: Harry & Snape Gen Fic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612954
Comments: 123
Kudos: 596





	1. antidote

**Author's Note:**

> written in response to the following challenges on potions and snitches:
> 
> [Teacher Attack!](http://www.potionsandsnitches.org/fanfiction/modules/challenges/challenges.php?chalid=87) by Dhruva  
> [Show me your hand Potter](http://www.potionsandsnitches.org/fanfiction/modules/challenges/challenges.php?chalid=1237) by nnjjj  
> [I Must Not Tell Lies Or Impersonate Potter](http://www.potionsandsnitches.org/fanfiction/modules/challenges/challenges.php?chalid=1164) by Alexannah  
> [Multiple Challenges](http://www.potionsandsnitches.org/fanfiction/modules/challenges/challenges.php?chalid=586) by JAWorley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge massive thank you to my beta [duplicity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity) for helping me get through writing this and making sure it's readable!

Harry sank heavily into a sitting position on his bed and set his left hand onto his knee, palm up, and his right hand onto his other knee, palm down. His eyelids felt as though something was pressing into them, forcing them down, and keeping them from opening again. 

And his hands– 

Harry shook his head slightly, glad that in the darkness of the dorm, he could not see the damage that Umbridge had done– had forced Harry to do– to his hands. 

He should have known something like this was coming, honestly. But he’d been so deep in denial that he had been too blind to see all the warning signs.

Several days ago, Dumbledore had been kicked out by Umbridge. Since then, she had been doing her best to usurp Dumbledore as Headmaster, but she’d not been able to manage it completely. Thanks to small rebellions from everyone up to and including the castle itself, all she’d managed to do was give herself a new, meaningless title. 

And because these rebellions were so ubiquitous, Umbridge rarely managed to catch the perpetrators. Everything was going poorly for her– she couldn’t get into Dumbledore’s office, she couldn’t find Dumbledore, she couldn’t keep the students under control, the list went on– so she must have been feeling restless and impotent. Which, if Harry hadn’t been so determinedly blind, he would have seen how dangerous this combination was for his own well-being. 

But he had been deeply in denial, so when Umbridge had held Harry back after class with even less of a reason than normal to give him a detention, he should have been wary that things would take a turn for the worse. 

Should have been– because he hadn’t even considered the possibility. Even when he had been complaining about the detention to Ron and Hermione during lunch, he hadn’t thought to worry about it.

Because while he certainly didn’t _like_ carving lines into his hand, it’d become almost routine at this point, and so he knew he could handle it. 

So when Harry had sat down in Umbridge’s office and picked up the blood quill, ready to continue where he’d left off after his last detention, he’d been relatively calm. 

The first shock of the evening had come when Umbridge had waved her wand and muttered some spell that had caused Harry’s left hand to be pinned to her desk, palm up. His heart started to pound at this, but he’d been confused more than anything else. 

Umbridge had quickly informed him, in a disgustingly simpering tone, what she was doing. She had decided that “more drastic measures” were needed to correct Harry’s behavior. To this end, she had found a stone that would detect– and punish– rebellious thoughts. She had pinned Harry’s hand to the desk to prevent him from trying to displace the innocuous-looking stone that she placed on his palm. 

Harry had tried to censure his thoughts, to think only of meaningless things, to occupy his mind with counting backwards and remembering his to-do list.

But the pain of the lines, combined with his exhaustion, made it too difficult to keep up. At first, the stone had heated so negligibly that he’d barely noticed it. Then, as he’d forgotten more and more frequently to censor his thoughts, the warming sensation had quickly become a searing burn.

Eventually, the stone glowed red-hot with each bitter thought, and Harry had been simultaneously too tired and too incensed to control his thoughts. This had led to a vicious cycle of Harry thinking a ‘forbidden’ thought because of the pain, and then getting hurt worse because of the thought.

Maybe if he had gotten better at Occlumency, he would have been able to keep his head clear of incriminating thoughts. But Harry was terrible at Occlumency, and so, in addition to the bleeding line on his right hand, Harry now had a circle of painful, burnt skin on his left palm. 

Harry bitterly thought that it was for the best that he’d been kicked off the Quidditch team, because he didn’t think he’d be able to grip a broomstick in this state, let alone catch the snitch.

More than anything, Harry wished he hadn’t told Ron and Hermione not to wait up for him. Harry had been so convinced that the detention would be routine that he’d also convinced them not to wait up for him. And now he would be stuck with no way to relieve the pain. 

Harry shook off his disappointment in himself. He certainly wasn’t going to wake his friends now that he was back, so he was just going to have to live with the pain, at least until the morning, when he could ask Hermione for something to help his hands. 

He shifted back on his bed so that he was leaning against his pillows, then awkwardly shoved his legs under the covers so that he was sitting up.

Harry carefully reached up with his right hand to remove his glasses and place them on his bedside table. As he did so, he noticed a tiny jar, one no larger than the first joint of his thumb, resting on his desk. He certainly hadn’t put it there, so he replaced his glasses onto his face and shifted closer to his bedside table. 

Using the side of his left hand, Harry swept the jar off the table and onto his right palm. A note that the jar had been placed on top of also landed in Harry’s palm. 

Harry shuffled back to lean against his pillows again. He carefully tilted the jar off of his palm and onto his lap, then unfolded the note. Holding the note carefully, Harry tilted it around, trying to catch enough moonlight to read it– he could cast _Lumos_ , but that would require wielding his wand, and he didn’t think he was up to that, at the moment.

After a few moments of experimentation, Harry found an angle that caught enough light to let him read the note. 

_For your hand._ – _Hermione._

He should have known that Hermione wouldn’t have been satisfied with just going to bed. She was truly an incredible friend. 

Carefully, painfully, Harry opened the jar with his injured hands. He was dismayed to realize that there was only enough of whatever was in the jar to treat one of his hands. Looking between the two injuries, Harry decided to use the cream on the quill injury because it was the injury that Hermione knew about. 

Since the stone had caused a burn, it might need a treatment different than the cuts from the quill, and Harry didn’t want to risk wasting the cream on the burn, just in case it didn’t work.

Harry rubbed the cream into the back of his right hand,then sighed in relief as the pain faded from an angry screech to a manageable throb. Then he replaced the lid of the jar and put both the jar and his glasses onto his bedside table. As he did so, Harry realized that he had a decision to make. Hermione didn’t know about the stone or the burn on his hand, and so he had to decide whether he wanted to show her the new injury or not. 

On the one hand, if Harry did show Hermione, she might know of something he could use specifically for the burn, but on the other, he didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily. 

Harry slid down further into his bed so he was laying down properly. 

It really had been a very long day. And now that Harry was laying down in bed, the weight pressing into his eyes seemed to get that much heavier and harder to resist. Harry’s jaw cracked in a massive yawn, and as he released it, he curled onto his side. 

Harry felt the pull of sleep tug on his consciousness and decided to give in; he could make a decision in the morning. 

The next morning, Harry woke up to a burning sensation in both of his hands. While this feeling had become the new normal for his right hand, it took him a long time to figure out why his _left_ hand was aching too. 

* * *

Harry groaned miserably into his pillow as he remembered the previous night’s detention with Umbridge. 

“Oh, so you are awake,” Ron said as he yanked back the curtains of Harry’s bed. 

Harry groaned again, louder this time, and tossed a pillow in the general direction of Ron’s head. “Don’t want to be, though,” Harry said, his head still buried in his other pillow. 

Then Harry felt Ron pulling at the foot end of his covers, so he flopped over onto his back and, without thinking, grabbed at the covers with both hands. This was a mistake. Harry immediately released the covers and curled into the fetal position with both hands cradled against his chest. 

“What happened, Harry?” Ron asked, sounding concerned. 

“Umbridge,” Harry said simply, knowing that this single word would give Ron all the information he needed. 

“That _bitch_ ,” Ron spat. “How long did she keep you?” 

Harry awkwardly shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t pressed into his bed. “Dunno,” he added for good measure. 

“I’m going to get Hermione,” Ron said. Before he left, he replaced the covers that he’d removed, tucking them in gently around Harry.

Harry had been about to stop Ron, to tell him about what else had happened at the detention, but the gentle action of Ron tucking Harry back into bed had made Harry take in a shuddering breath and lose his train of thought entirely. 

Ron unthinkingly did things like that all the time, and Harry knew that it just came naturally to Ron; for Ron, it was normal for people to do things like that for each other. But for Harry, the small gestures meant so much more.

And after the horrible night he’d had, that gesture had made Harry feel as though he was falling apart. Harry gave himself a moment to focus on his breathing and on ignoring the pain in his hands, and then he forced himself to pull it together. Ron and Hermione would be coming back soon, and he didn’t want to worry them anymore than he had to, especially since he’d vaguely decided to tell them about the stone from hell.

Harry sat a bit longer, and then he carefully unfolded himself from the ball he had curled into. He used his legs to get the covers off, and then swung his legs around and down onto the ground. Harry sat sideways on his bed, staring blankly down at a random spot between his feet. 

The sound of someone coming back into the dorm from the shower was what finally motivated Harry to shove himself to his feet and shuffle over to his wardrobe. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that it was Seamus who’d come back, so Harry muttered a quiet, “Good morning.”

Seamus snorted incoherently in response.

Harry nudged the door to his wardrobe open with his elbow, doing his best not to jostle the injuries on either of his hands. 

The best part of Hogwarts having uniforms was that he didn’t have to expend mental energy on picking out an outfit. 

Harry pulled out a stack of clothing that had all the components of the uniform ready to go and set it on his bed. Then he set about the slightly-difficult proposition of getting dressed with both hands injured. When he got to buttoning up his dress shirt, he gave up and resigned himself to asking Ron for help.

His stomach turned at the thought of Ron and Hermione getting worked up for him again– as he was sure they would when they realized he was too injured to properly dress himself. Maybe… since the stone wasn’t much different from the quill… Ron and Hermione wouldn’t get that upset over it. 

Harry sat down on his bed to wait for Ron and Hermione to come back, and not long after he did, Hermione burst into the dorm.

“Harry, what happened?” Hermione asked as she hurried over to him. 

“Oi– I’m getting dressed here!” Seamus said indignantly. 

“I’m not looking,” Hermione said. To prove her point, she turned her back solidly on Seamus and sat down on Harry’s bed. 

Seamus made a face at her back, then rushed through tying his tie. When he was done, he hurried out of the dorm room, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone.

“Ron said that it hurt when you tried to grab your covers, but the cut is on the back of your hand, so I’m worried something is really wrong,” Hermione said in a rush. Then she added impatiently, “Well? Let me see it!”

Harry rolled his eyes to stall the moment where he had to tell them about this latest development with Umbridge. Then he took a deep breath and said, “You’re not going to like this.” 

“We never do. But it’s not _your_ fault, it’s Umbridge that we really don’t like,” Ron said. 

Harry smiled in acknowledgement of the reassurance. Then he held out his left palm. “She tried something new last night.” 

“So, no lines, right?” Hermione asked absently, as she turned Harry’s hand over in her hand. 

Harry sighed and put his right hand next to his left one, showing the angry, red cut. “Oh, she still had me doing lines,” he said grimly. “I already used the potion you left me last night on the lines.”

Hermione’s hand tightened briefly around the hand with the burn. Harry gasped as the pain in his hand flared, and she immediately shifted her grip.

“Sorry, Harry. Um, so, I brought more minor cut healing potion, but I don’t know if it’s what you need for a burn like this,” Hermione said, sounding anxious. 

Harry rolled his shoulders back. “It’s not like I have any better options– but, if you’re worried about wasting–”

“No, no. That’s not it at all, I’m just worried that it won’t help you, and you’ll be in pain all day, because Merlin knows we’ll never convince you to go to the Hospital Wing for this.” 

“It’s not that big of a deal. And, y’know, the potion worked well on the quill cuts, so maybe it’ll work well on the burn too.” 

Hermione still looked doubtful, but she reached into her pocket and pulled out another jar of potion. “I’ll reapply it to the quill injury first, then do the burn. So give me your other hand.” 

Harry held out the requested hand again and then carefully set his left hand back down onto his bed.

As Hermione layered the potion onto his cut, the pain relieving quality of the potion made him want to cry with relief. When he’d woken up this morning, the pain in his right hand had returned with a vengeance, but now it was gone again. 

Hermione set the container of potion down on the bed next to Harry, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a roll of bandages. “I only have one roll, because I didn’t know you had multiple injuries,” she said. Then she unrolled the bandages and pulled out her wand. “So I’ll have to cut this one in half. It should still be long enough for both hands, though.” 

“I’m just grateful you have any bandages at all,” Harry said. 

“I knew you’d probably need them,” Hermione said, shrugging as she finished securely wrapping his right hand. Then she gestured for him to give her his left hand, and he did so, hoping that the potion would work on the burn. The wound was painful enough that it would be a distraction if the potion didn’t work.

Hermione applied the dittany to Harry’s palm. To Harry’s dismay, the burning sensation failed to be affected. It wasn’t any worse, thankfully, but it certainly wasn’t any better. 

“Did it work?” Hermione asked. 

Harry shook his head. He waited a moment longer, hoping the effects were delayed, maybe because of the differing type of injury. When the pain still failed to fade, he sighed and said, “It’s fine, at least one of my hands is better, right?” 

“It’s not _fine_. Screw Umbridge,” Hermione said with rancor. Then she added bitterly, “And where the hell is some aloe vera when you need it?”

Aloe vera sounded amazing right about now. Harry had never had the opportunity to use any on the minor burns he’d acquired when cooking for the Dursley’s, but he’d seen Petunia apply it to the occasional sunburn that Dudley would get, and so he’d always wished for some. 

“There’s no magical version of aloe vera, is there?” Harry asked flatly. He didn’t really think there was, since he was sure Hermione would already have mentioned it if she knew of something, but it was worth the ask.

“Wait, what’s aloe vera?” Ron asked.

“I don’t think so, Harry. At least, not that we’d have access to,” Hermione said regretfully. “And aloe vera is a Muggle plant most frequently used to treat minor burns.” 

“Damn, that would be nice to have in the summer,” Ron said. 

Hermione had finished wrapping his left hand, so Harry stood up. He asked Ron, “Would you mind helping me button my shirt?” 

“Of course,” Ron said, moving around the bed.

“I’ll just wait for you in the common room,” Hermione said.

Harry and Ron watched her leave the room. Then Ron did up the buttons on Harry’s shirt and knotted Harry’s tie. It was a little awkward, and Harry spent the entire time looking anywhere but directly at Ron. At least there was no one else here to witness it.

Once Harry was dressed, he and Ron walked down to the common room together. They met up with Hermione, who had been reading while she’d been waiting for them, and they all headed down to breakfast together. 

Throughout the walk to breakfast and during breakfast itself, Ron and Hermione carried most of the conversation with little input from Harry. Harry was quickly finding that the longer he was awake, the more tired he felt. He just wasn’t up to conversation. 

Morning classes passed by in a bit of a blur. Harry had gotten lucky for once in his life. Both Herbology and Transfiguration had only been theory– it would have been difficult to participate in a practical lesson with his hands injured the way they were.

As he got up from lunch, Harry had the foreboding feeling that Potions would not follow the same trend. 

“Do you know what we’re doing today?” Harry asked Hermione as they walked down to the dungeons. 

Hermione eyed him, then said, “We’re brewing Paint Stripping Solution today.”

“Er– how volatile is that?” Harry asked nervously.

“Very. It’s our OWL year, Harry. The potions are harder than ever, you know that.” 

“Well,” Harry said, with false cheeriness, “this ought to be good.” 

Harry knew that Potions was not going to go well for him today. His left hand still hurt, and he was even more exhausted than he had been this morning. He’d be lucky if he made it through the lesson without falling asleep, let alone without blowing up his potion. 

“You should probably partner with Hermione today,” Harry said to Ron. He was clearly not going to be performing at the top of his game today– which was barely adequate to make it through the class as it was– and he didn’t want Ron’s grade to suffer because of him.

“And who are you going to work with?” Hermione asked. 

“Neville,” Harry said. Neville was even worse at potions than Harry and Ron were, so Neville usually worked alone to minimize collateral damage. But since Harry was feeling so awful, he was probably going to be only a bit worse at potions than Neville normally was. Harry would still feel bad about bringing Neville down, but he thought that Neville would understand.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“No, but when do I ever have good ideas?” Harry asked rhetorically. 

In response to this, Ron and Hermione spent the rest of the walk to the classroom trying to hype Harry up. Harry appreciated their efforts, but they failed to have any significant impact. Especially since he kept heaving large, jaw-splitting yawns that severely damaged his ability to listen to them. 

They had just arrived outside the classroom door when Hermione abruptly said, “I really think you ought to go to Madam Pomfrey instead.” 

Harry checked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening. There were several other students gathered, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to them. “You know why I’m not going to do that.” 

“Yes, and I think you ought to set aside those reasons for the sake of your own health!” Hermione said urgently. 

Harry frowned slightly, then shook his head. If he went to Madam Pomfrey, she’d probably report Umbridge to McGonagall, and then Umbridge would hear about it and fire the both of them. And Hogwarts needed McGonagall and Pomfrey too much for Harry to chance that. And besides, this was a private battle of wills between Harry and Umbridge. He didn’t want to get anyone else involved.

Harry was saved from having to respond to this by the classroom door swinging open. 

“This isn’t over,” Hermione muttered as they walked to their seats. 

Harry shrugged, knowing there was no way she would convince him to tell anyone.

Harry split off from Ron and Hermione to sit down next to Neville in the back of the room. Neville gave him a curious look. In response, Harry held up his bandaged right hand and quietly said, “I’m sorry about this.”

“Potter!” Snape spat from the front of the room. “Move to the front desk. For speaking out of turn, you will be working alone today.” 

Harry sighed and grabbed his bag again. He’d just sat down, so at least he didn’t have to pack up his things. Normally, being called out so unfairly would make him seethe with rage at Snape, but today he simply didn’t have it in him to muster up the necessary energy for it. And truth be told, he might do a bit better sitting in the front of the room because he’d be able to see the board better.

Unfortunately, this was also the biggest downside to the arrangement. With Harry seated front and center in the classroom, Snape was right in front of him, glowering malevolently. 

Harry quickly turned his attention towards unpacking his brewing supplies in order to avoid making accidental eye contact. 

The first portion of the double period was spent with Snape giving an overview of the potion they were going to be brewing. 

Harry barely absorbed any of it. He knew that he ought to pay close attention, that the potion they would be brewing was volatile and easy to mess up. And he also knew that he was working alone and couldn’t rely on a partner for help. But he just couldn’t manage to absorb anything that Snape was saying. 

The drone of Snape’s lecture was ordinarily enough to make Harry doze, and today wasn’t an ordinary day. Harry was so tired and distracted by stress that he was sure that if it weren’t for the pain in his hands and the discomfort of sitting at the front of the class, he would have fallen asleep in the middle of the lecture.

Harry’s thoughts were moving sluggishly. His left hand still burned and his right hand was beginning to ache again, and he had to keep himself from picking at the bandages on his hands. As he was rubbing at the bandages absently, he realized that he had forgotten one more consequence of sitting directly in front of Snape.

It was going to be nearly impossible for Harry to keep his bandages hidden. But then again, maybe it didn’t matter if Snape saw. Snape wasn’t exactly a warm person, and if he saw the bandages, he’d probably just assume that Harry had injured himself doing something stupid. 

It wasn’t like he’d force Harry to go to the Hospital Wing like some of the other professors might have. And really, there was no reason for Snape to know the truth about Harry’s injuries. Harry was just being anxious over nothing, so he did his best to force his errant thoughts back to the lecture.

He wasn’t very successful, because before Harry knew it, Snape was telling them to get started with brewing. Harry quickly joined the crowd in gathering supplies. He’d taken in practically none of Snape’s lecture, and he just knew that this wasn’t going to go well. 

On his way back to his workstation, Harry saw that Malfoy and his partner Nott had switched seats with whoever had originally been in the row behind Harry. Harry had a bad feeling about having the two of them seated behind him, but Snape was hardly going to do anything about it, even if Harry made the mistake of complaining, so Harry grit his teeth and set about laying out his ingredients. 

As Harry scanned the instructions laid out on the board, he felt a knot of panic tie itself in his gut. There was no way he’d be able to manage this on his own. There were simply too many finicky steps that required incredibly high levels of precision. 

Harry closed his eyes briefly and rubbed at his face with the back of his left hand. All he could do was try his best to make it through without _actually_ exploding the potion. He knew that it was too much to hope that he could manage an actual finished product. 

Pulling his hands away from his face, Harry did his best to focus on the task at hand.

He did his best to follow the instructions on the board. He really did. But it seemed like every time he thought he’d figured out the next step, something happened to break his concentration. Snape would hover over him and make unhelpful comments. Malfoy would distract him with a nasty insult. And the entire time, his hands were aching and he was exhausted and it just never seemed to end. 

So when his potion exploded violently, Harry was not at all surprised. 

As soon as the surface of the potion had begun to boil upwards, Harry had leapt away from the potion, flinging his arms upwards to protect his face. 

The boiling liquid soaked through the sleeves of his robe and the bandages on his hands as though they were paper, and Harry grit his teeth against the impulse to cry out. He staggered backwards another step, arms still held tightly over his face. 

After a moment Harry realized that someone was screaming. His teeth were still clenched together, so he knew it wasn’t him. He frowned in confusion, but was quickly distracted from his concern as the horrible burning sensation in his arms began to morph into a horrible itching sensation. Harry pulled his arms away from his face, and the first thing he noticed was that his sleeves were still completely intact and entirely undamaged. 

Whatever the disaster was that Harry had accidentally brewed, it had ignored his sleeves as if they didn’t exist.

Harry contemplated his shockingly-intact sleeves. After a moment, he realized that whoever had been screaming before had stopped, so he looked up from his arms and glanced around the room. Malfoy and Nott were both itching furiously at their faces, which were now covered in angry red hives. They must have also gotten splashed by the potion when it had exploded.

The itching on his arms was getting more insistent, so Harry carefully pulled up the sleeve of his robe and saw that his arms were covered in the same angry red hives, and that the hives seemed to continue underneath the bandages on his hands. He quickly dropped the sleeve back into position and tucked his hands into his armpits to try and keep himself from scratching.

He was incredibly grateful that he’d managed to cover his face in time, because he could only imagine how much worse it would be to have the hives all over his face.

“What happened?” Snape demanded. 

Harry looked up and saw that Snape was standing over by Malfoy and Nott. For a moment, Harry was confused as to why Snape had gone directly to them instead of to Harry, when Harry had been the one to cause the explosion. 

A second later, Harry realized that Malfoy and Nott had been far more vocal in the aftermath of the explosion than Harry had been. They would’ve been the ones who attracted Snape’s attention, so they were the ones that Snape had gone to first. 

Harry appreciated what could only be a short reprieve from the interrogation that was surely coming.

“Potter’s potion exploded all over us!” Malfoy whined. 

Snape was turned away from Harry, so Harry discreetly began to pack away his brewing supplies. He was quite thankful that the potion didn’t seem to have any effect on his supplies. It had just slid off everything into puddles on his desk. 

Harry was careful not to touch any of the puddles directly as he picked through the mess. He was absently listening to Malfoy go on about the effects of the potion that he’d been splashed with– a diatribe that was intercut with complaints about Harry’s stupidity. Harry knew that he’d normally be incensed by Malfoy’s sheer determination to dodge any culpability in the situation, but again– he just didn’t have the energy to manage it. 

It was difficult for Harry to stay focused on cleaning up his workstation when his arms were itchy and his hands were both itchy and in pain, but he was managing. His hope was that if he cleared his station quickly enough, he’d be able to slip out of the classroom without Snape realizing he’d been caught by the explosion. 

Because if Snape tried to treat the hives, he’d have to remove the bandages on Harry’s hands, and while Harry thought that Snape would be perfectly happy to ignore the bandages, Harry found it harder to believe that Snape would just heal the hives and ignore the other injuries on his hands. 

But if Harry could manage to slip out of the classroom without Snape noticing, then he wouldn’t have to worry about Snape discovering anything at all. 

“Alright. Mr Malfoy and Mr Nott, go to the front of the room so I can give you the antidote. I will send you to the Hospital Wing if needed. And,” Snape said, projecting his voice to address the rest of the class, “if anyone else has been affected, you will join them.” 


	2. oath

Severus felt the beginnings of a tension headache take root in the back of his mind. In the days since Umbridge had– temporarily– kicked Dumbledore out of the school, Severus’s various roles had become much more stressful to manage. 

He knew a lot of his Slytherins were playing a dangerous game by joining Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad– he worried for their safety from the other students, and he worried about what would happen to them once Umbridge was inevitably deposed. 

There wasn’t much he could do to sway them in their choices though, thanks to the fine line he walked between each side of the war. Umbridge stood against Dumbledore– so if Severus stood against her, it would eventually get back to the Dark Lord. And the Dark Lord expected Severus to stand with her– discreetly, of course, because she was such a destabilizing influence. So nothing good would come of Severus detering his Slytherins from joining the Inquisitorial Squad.

These days, Severus would be hard-pressed to say if it was more repulsive to pretend to kowtow to Umbridge, or to the Dark Lord. At least with the Dark Lord, there were more immediate consequences for not performing adequately. With Umbridge, the dangers were more insidious. 

She wouldn’t torture him overtly, like the Dark Lord would, but she would put him on probation and then eventually fire him. 

And both of those options would get back to the Dark Lord eventually– effectively ending with the same result of trying to dissuade his Slytherins from joining her. 

As for being fired, Severus’s life would more than likely be forfeit after that. He would lose his value as a spy to the Dark Lord, and losing his value as a spy to the Dark Lord would mean losing his value as a spy for Dumbledore. So not only would he be in danger from the Dark Lord, but Dumbledore would also have no real reason to try and protect him. 

And as if his current situation wasn’t precarious enough, he still had to teach classes as though nothing were wrong. 

So when Potter sat down in his class and started talking to Neville, Severus immediately pounced on the opportunity to force Potter to brew today’s complicated, difficult potion by himself. 

Severus took great pleasure in breaking up the monotony of an otherwise boring lecture by glowering menacingly at Potter. Lecturing was his least favorite part of the job, because he ended up giving the same lecture that he always gave– the repetition would drive him mad one day, so the distraction was quite welcome. 

Once Severus finished delivering his lecture, he released the students to begin brewing, and then he began circling the room, making corrections and suggestions as he went. 

Towards the end of the period, Potter’s potion exploded violently. Severus hurried over to see the damage, ready to deliver a scathing lecture and at least one detention, if not more, when he was side-tracked by Malfoy and Nott. 

The two Slytherins had been in the splash-zone of Potter’s potion, so Severus stopped mid-step and turned to them. “What happened?” he demanded.

Severus only half-listened as Malfoy detailed what had happened– the gist of it was the same as every other time Malfoy and Potter had gotten involved in a conflict, so close attention was not necessary. 

Severus was aware that Potter was cleaning up the mess he had made; Severus was also sure that Potter would attempt to slip away once he was done. Based on the hives that Malfoy and Nott had, however, Severus knew that he could not let Potter run off while he was also still covered in hives. And, of course, Severus still needed to assign Potter a detention. 

Refocusing on his two Slytherins, Severus thought that he had allowed Malfoy to posture for long enough. “Alright. Mr Malfoy and Mr Nott, go to the front of the room so I can administer an antidote. I will send you to the Hospital Wing if needed. And,” Snape said, projecting his voice to address the rest of the class, “if anyone else has been affected, you will join them.”

Malfoy and Nott immediately went to stand by his desk at the front of the room, and Severus followed just behind them. As Severus walked by Potter, Potter glanced furtively at him. Severus knew he needed to keep an eye on Potter while he treated Malfoy and Nott’s hives; he fully expected Potter to make a break for it at some point. 

“Let me see your face,” Severus said to Malfoy. He needed to pinpoint precisely what kind of hive it was so he could choose the correct antidote. 

Malfoy stepped forward and tilted his face upwards, angling it so that the part that was most heavily covered in hives would catch the light. 

Severus stared intently at the hives for a long moment before nodding to himself. He strode over to the cabinet of antidotes that he kept handy for these situations and opened it up. His organization system allowed him to quickly find the correct antidote. 

When Severus turned back around, he saw that Thomas and Greengrass had also come forward for treatment. Severus glanced at the bottle he was holding and was relieved to see that he’d restocked recently and therefore ought to have enough of the cream to treat everyone. 

Before he went to treat the affected students, Severus said to the class, “Hand in your potions. Once you are done cleaning up after yourselves, leave.” 

A quick glance at Potter showed that he was still cleaning up the spilled potion. He would likely be occupied with that for at least the next couple of minutes. Reassured that Potter wasn’t going anywhere, Severus turned back to Malfoy.

“Did the potion land anywhere other than your face?” Severus asked. 

“No, sir.” 

Severus conjured a wooden spoon and scooped out a small measure of the cream. “Then rub this in. I will take a look at the results once I am done treating the others.” 

Severus repeated this process with the other three students, measuring out the cream based on how afflicted each student was, keeping an eye on Potter all the while. Potter was nearing the end of his task, and the rest of the class had already handed in their potions and left. The exceptions who had remained, of course, were the two members of Potter’s posse– Weasley and Granger. 

Once Severus had finished with the antidote, he noted that the hives had begun to clear up on Malfoy’s face. 

“How do you feel?” Severus asked. He needed to be sure that the antidote he had chosen was not just a cosmetic solution and that it was actually treating the hives. 

“Much better, now,” Malfoy said, sounding relieved. 

“And the rest of you?” Severus asked the others, though he was reasonably sure that they would all be fine too, since the antidote had worked so effectively on Malfoy. 

Nott, Greengrass, and Thomas each muttered something indicating they were doing better. 

“Then you are all dismissed,” Severus said, causing the four students to nod curtly and hurry away. 

Malfoy and Nott both began to clean up their shared station. Severus said, “Leave it. Come by my office this evening, and we can discuss a makeup assignment.” 

At this, the two of them said, “Yes, sir.” Then they hurried out of the room with their belongings. 

Greengrass and Thomas, whose respective partners had already cleared their workstations, merely picked up their bags and left.

Potter must have finished cleaning up his mess, because he– along with Granger and Weasley– tried to slip away with Thomas. 

“Potter, do not leave yet,” Severus said. “We still have things to discuss.”

Thankfully, Potter listened for once and halted in his tracks. Granger and Weasley also stopped, and Severus had to resist the urge to sigh in exasperation.

The classroom was empty now except for Potter, Granger, and Weasley. 

“I believe I only told Potter to stay behind,” Severus said menacingly. The way the three of them were glued to each other became increasingly pathetic the older they got.

“We’re here to support Harry,” Weasley said. 

Granger nodded firmly. 

“Your presence is not needed. Leave,” Severus said. 

“But–” Weasley started to say. 

“Just go back to the common room, Ron, Hermione. It’ll be fine,” Potter said, interrupting. 

Weasley huffed, and Granger said, “Fine.”

Finally, the two left the room. 

“Where did the explosion hit you, Potter?” Severus asked. 

Potter opened his mouth to respond, but Severus could see that Potter was about to lie. Severus decided to cut Potter off before he could waste Severus’s time with a pointless lie. 

“Do  _ not  _ lie to me. It was your potion that exploded– it hit you somewhere. Tell me where, so I can administer the antidote, assign your detention, and send you on your way.” 

Potter’s eyes flicked down to his arms, but he didn’t move or say anything. Severus restrained the impulse to just grab one of them, because he wasn’t sure where the hives were, and he didn’t particularly want to deal with any complaints if he accidentally grabbed somewhere that was covered in hives. 

When Potter continued to refuse to respond, Severus prompted, sterner this time, “Give me your arm.”

It took another moment, but Potter did hold out one of his arms– without rolling up the sleeve of his robe. Even the hand was wrapped tightly in a bandage– probably some holdover from a Quidditch injury. So not only was Severus unable to see any skin at all, but he was also unable to see any of the hives that he knew must be lurking beneath the material.

“The hives would be under your sleeve, Potter. Either roll up the sleeve or take off the robe.” 

“It’s really fine–” Potter tried to say. 

“It is not. Either you will show me your arms, or I will force you to show me,” Severus snapped, his small store of patience gone. 

Potter huffed, but then he shimmied his shoulders back, finally removing his robe so he was standing in his short-sleeve uniform shirt. Peculiarly, he did so with minimal use of his hands– possibly related to the bandages that both hands were wrapped in. 

Severus summoned the jar of antidote cream. Then he realized that the bandages were most likely covering more hives, and that whatever treatment Potter had received from Pomfrey for his original injuries could interact poorly with the new antidote. 

“What happened to your hands, Potter?”

Potter’s shoulders jerked up in an infuriating shrug.

“I require a verbal answer,” Severus ground out. “And do  _ not _ say nothing.” 

Potter froze. Then he said, “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” 

Severus paused for a moment to calm his temper. “I need to know, because whatever Madam Pomfrey treated you with could interfere with the action of the antidote. I am assuming you don’t want to be poisoned, so you will tell me what the injuries are and what Madam Pomfrey treated them with.” 

When Potter remained immobile and silent, Severus sighed in exasperation, stepped forward, and grabbed one of Potter’s elbows, which was one of the few places clear of hives. Severus was out of patience, and he hoped that if he discovered the answer to one of the questions himself– namely, the nature of the injuries– then Potter would give him the answer to the other. 

Potter exclaimed wordlessly and tried to yank his arm out of Severus’s grasp. 

Severus merely tightened his grip and began to unwind the bandage. Potter continued to struggle, and he even managed to pull his hand away just as Severus had finished removing the bandage. Severus was left holding the short length of bandage as Potter made a break for the door. 

With a lazy wave of his wand, Severus closed and locked the classroom door. Potter collided against the wooden door with a loud thud. 

“Stop fighting me, Potter,” Severus snapped. “I am merely trying to heal the hives  _ you _ inflicted on yourself.” 

“Yeah, you know me,” Potter said, his chest heaving. “Always inflicting injury on myself.” 

Severus felt a distant urge to roll his eyes at the teenage melodrama. “Just– give me your arm. And tell me what’s been done to treat the injury.” 

It took another infuriatingly-long moment, but Potter did hold out the unbandaged arm. He mumbled, “I’m not sure– Hermione gave me something.” 

Severus should have known that Potter would be too proud to get help from Madam Pomfrey. But then Severus lost the rest of that train of thought because he finally saw the injury– besides the hives– on the back of Potter’s right hand.

At first glance, he thought it was merely a scratch, or possibly several scratches. Bad ones, sure, because the skin was red and inflamed and the cuts themselves were scabbed over. But then Severus realized that he was looking at a phrase–  _ I must not tell lies–  _ carved into the back of Potter’s hand. And right on the heels of that realization was the horrifying knowledge that the words were written in Potter’s own handwriting. 

Someone had forced Potter to use a Black Quill to carve that phrase into the back of his own hand. Repeatedly, if the apparent depth of the cuts was anything to judge by. He took Potter’s hand and turned it over, examining it. 

“Who did this, Potter?” He had the suspicion that he knew who had done this, but he needed Potter to confirm it before he could begin to do anything.

“You already said it. I did,” Potter said, eyes too bright. 

“You may have wielded the quill, but I need to know who put the quill in your hand,” Severus said, his grasp tightening slightly around Potter’s hand– around the evidence that he had failed in his oath to protect Potter. Because this must have happened here, at Hogwarts, while Potter was under Severus’s protection. 

Severus shoved these thoughts away for the moment. They were not helpful, and he needed to focus on confirming that it had been Umbridge who had caused his oath to break. So that he could begin to set things right. 

Potter rolled his eyes, and Severus held himself back from snapping out a rebuke. He was trying to extract information from Potter, and so ordering Potter to fix his behavior was not conducive to that goal. Instead, Severus continued to fix Potter with an expectant stare, holding his silence. 

They stood there, Potter’s hand still held in Severus’s, for several long moments. 

Finally, Potter looked away and said, “It was Umbridge. In detention.”

Severus nodded in satisfaction, glad to have his suspicion confirmed. As soon as he was done sorting Potter out, Severus would contact Minerva and they would begin to plan. But for now, he still needed to find out what had happened to Potter’s other hand. 

“And did she make you do lines with your left hand as well?” Severus asked. 

Potter’s jaw clenched shut again, and he shook his head sharply. Potter took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “Just look,” Potter muttered, holding out his still-bandaged left hand. 

Severus released Potter’s right hand and took the left one. As he began to unwind the bandage, he said, “I am going to have to send you to Pomfrey for treatment. There is no use in risking an interaction between whatever Granger gave you for your hand and the antidote to the hives.” 

“What? Why?” Potter protested. “It was just some basic healing potion–”

“Of which there are scores of variations, some of them which will have dangerous interactions with this antidote, some of them which will not. You  _ will _ be going to see Madam Pomfrey.”

Potter still looked mutinous, but Severus was distracted by the fact that he had just managed to get the bandage off of Potter’s hand. Severus looked down and saw that there was nothing on the back of the hand. Potter huffed and flipped his own hand over, revealing an angry red circle of burnt skin on Potter’s palm. 

“Did she do this as well?” Severus asked. She must have– it would simply be too much of a coincidence for Potter to have two unrelated injuries on his hands– but Severus wanted to collect as much information as possible, and so he had asked anyway.

“Yes,” Potter confirmed. Then he added, “But you can’t tell Madam Pomfrey about it– or the quill.”

Severus repressed his annoyance at Potter’s reluctance to divulge useful information and raised an eyebrow. “I will inform Madam Pomfrey of all relevant information.” 

“Please, sir, you can’t tell her,” Potter said, sounding desperate. “She’ll tell Mc– Professor McGonagall, and–”

“You seem to be under the impression that I am not going to tell Professor McGonagall myself,” Severus said, cutting Potter off. “But she must be and will be informed, regardless of whatever imbecilic reasoning has kept you from informing an adult so far.”

“But she’ll just get you fired,” Potter burst out. Then Potter tugged his hand away, and Severus reluctantly released it. Potter tucked his hands into his armpits with a wince. Severus assumed that Potter had tucked his hands away to stop himself from scratching at the hives, so the hives must be terribly itchy to make the action of tucking his hands away worth aggravating the injuries on his hands.

“That is none of your concern, Potter,” Severus said, waving his wand to summon the jar of antidote. “What’s going to happen now is I am going to apply this antidote to the parts of your arms afflicted with hives, avoiding the parts of your hands that were treated with a potion. Then I am going to watch you floo to the Hospital Wing from my office. Once we arrive in the Hospital Wing, I will tell Madam Pomfrey myself what treatment is required.” 

Potter perked up at this last bit– he must have picked up on the phrasing. “Does that mean you won’t be telling her about Umbridge?”

Severus disdained to answer the question, instead choosing to hold out his hand for Potter’s arm. 

Potter glared for a moment, then held out his right arm. “I don’t see why I can’t apply the antidote myself– you let the others do it themselves.”

“Because I don’t trust you to apply it correctly without poisoning yourself,” Severus said, taking hold of Potter’s wrist and beginning to brusquely apply the cream to all the hives on his arm. 

Thankfully, Potter was cooperative as Severus applied the cream. The hives did look painful– though they could not have been that bad, because Potter seemed to have refrained from scratching himself even before he had started tucking his hands away. 

Once he was done applying the cream, Severus replaced the lid on the jar and stashed it away into his pocket for the time being. “Come along, Potter,” Severus said, leading the way out of the classroom and to his office.

A beat after he’d strode off, Severus heard Potter fall into step behind him. The walk through the hallways was spent in complete silence aside from the sound of their footsteps echoing through the dungeon hallways. They ran into no one else along their, which made the trip quick and painless. Severus wanted to push Potter through his floo as soon as possible so he could start dealing with the rest of the fallout from this discovery.

Severus pushed open the door to his office and held it open for a second longer than necessary for Potter to follow through. 

“Stand in front of the fireplace,” Severus said, grabbing his jar of floo powder off the mantle. Potter had gotten into place, so Severus wasted no time in tossing in a pinch of the powder into the flames and saying, “Hospital Wing, Hogwarts.” 

The fire flared up and turned emerald green. Potter hesitated, so Severus nudged him in the back, pushing him through and causing him to be whisked away. 

Severus conjured a cushion for himself to kneel on while he called Poppy. Then, once he’d decided he’d given Potter enough time to get clear of the fireplace, he knelt down and tossed another pinch of floo powder into the flames. He repeated the destination and stuck his head into the emerald green fire. 

“Poppy?” Severus called. There was no use in looking around since Poppy kept a screen in front of the fireplace to protect her patients’ privacy. 

“Severus?” she responded. “Can it wait a moment? I have a patient.” 

“What I have to say involves your patient,” Severus said. 

He heard the sound of approaching footsteps, then saw Poppy come around in front of the screen. “What is it, then?” she asked impatiently.

“Potter’s hands were injured during detention, and he has treated them with an unknown potion. Currently, I do not have the time to figure out what potion he used or if it would interact poorly with the antidote, so this is why I have sent him to you. Do not let him leave until I contact you again.”

“Very well, but I won’t keep him here overnight if it’s not needed for his health, so do make sure you contact me in a timely manner.”

“Of course,” Severus said. Then he cut the connection and climbed to his feet. 

He moved to sit at his desk and collect his thoughts. He was sure that the coming conversation with Minerva would be taxing– she was incredibly protective of her students and, of course, Potter in particular, and Severus had just found out that Potter was being tortured right under their noses. 

And because it was Umbridge doing the torturing, the situation was much more complicated. They would have to plan very carefully to figure out how to get her out of their school without making things worse with the Ministry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please!!!!!!!! comment!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	3. care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge thank you to [duplicity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity) for beta-reading and especially for helping me make umbridge actually bitchy

Harry stumbled on his way out of the floo– as he always did– and just barely managed to keep his balance. He coughed heavily, trying to clear his lungs of the soot he’d inhaled.

Once he could breathe again, Harry positioned his hands to dust off his uniform, but he remembered at the last minute that this would be a terrible idea. Instead, he stood, frozen in place, as he stared in consternation at the state of his uniform. 

“Hello?” Madam Pomfrey called.

“Er– over here,” Harry said. Without thinking about it, he quickly tucked his hands into his armpits. 

There was the sound of footsteps, and then Madam Pomfrey came around the corner of the privacy screens. 

“What happened, Mr Potter?” she asked, looking him over. A quick wave of her wand banished the dirt from Harry’s uniform.

“Thank you ma’am,” Harry said sincerely. “There was– uh, an accident– in Potions. And I got hit with some of the spilt potion.”

“Well, let’s get you settled, and then I can take a look,” Madam Pomfrey said, beckoning for Harry to follow her. 

Harry complied, and she guided him over to the cabinet of hospital gowns. She had just handed one to him and told him to put it on when the floo flared again. 

“Poppy?” Snape called. 

Madam Pomfrey huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Severus?” she responded, “Can it wait a moment? I’m with a patient.” 

“What I have to say involves your patient,” Snape said.

Harry’s heart had begun to pound as soon as he had heard Snape’s voice.

“Go ahead and get that on while I talk to Professor Snape, and I’ll be by shortly to see what I can do for you,” Madam Pomfrey said to Harry. 

Harry felt himself nod.

Then Madam Pomfrey hurried over to the floo. 

Harry remained frozen for a moment with the gown still in his hands. He knew that Snape had said he would be calling Madam Pomfrey, but a small part of him had hoped Snape would decide that it wasn’t worth his time to follow through. But he clearly had decided to follow through, so Harry was sure that Snape was going to divulge everything that Harry had worked so hard to keep secret. 

When Madam Pomfrey asked if what Snape had to say could wait, Harry snapped himself out of it. He shuffled over to one of the beds, pulling the privacy curtains closed around him. Harry did his best to start the arduous process of trying to undress himself, but between his hands shaking due to nerves, and his reluctance to risk aggravating his multiple injuries, it was difficult to manage anything. As Harry continued with his careful efforts, he half listened as Snape told Pomfrey about what had happened. 

Harry slumped in relief when Snape finished his account without mentioning Umbridge. Then Harry tensed back up when he remembered that Snape had said he would be telling McGonagall everything. There was nothing he could do to stop Snape, though, so he did his best to focus exclusively on getting his shirt off.

“Do you need help, Mr Potter?” Madam Pomfrey asked, startling him.

A glance down made it clear that he did need help– he had only gotten two buttons undone so far. He jerked his head in a sharp nod and carefully set his hands down by his sides. 

“I’ll just turn my back and swap your uniform for the hospital gown with my wand then,” Madam Pomfrey said, and then she proceeded to do just that. 

Harry took a seat on the hospital bed and wrapped his arms around himself so that his hands were behind his back when Madam Pomfrey turned back around. 

“So Severus said that you treated some previous injuries on your hands that could interfere with the action of the antidote. I will not get into all the reasons why you should have come to me for treatment just yet, but for now, know that if you had come straight to me, it would have been as simple as choosing another antidote. As it is, I’m going to have to take some of your blood and run some tests.” 

Harry stared at some point to the left of Madam Pomfrey as she spoke, too guilty to even attempt to meet her gaze. He  _ knew _ why he hadn’t gone to her for help, but he still felt terrible for making her do more work now. 

“Mr Potter, I will need your hands, so I can take a blood sample,” Madam Pomfrey said. 

Harry took a deep breath, then reluctantly held out his hands for her to inspect. The quill injury was by far the more incriminating of the two, so he kept his hands palm up. 

Madam Pomfrey gently took hold of his wrists and tsk’d lightly. “Oh dear, this does look nasty.” She released his wrists and reached into her pocket for a syringe. “I need to take the sample from areas as close to the injuries as possible, so this will likely hurt a bit.” 

Harry nodded. 

Then Madam Pomfrey proceeded to draw blood from both of his hands. Harry could tell that she had been as gentle as possible, but it still hurt. And when she saw the marks the blood– er, Black Quill– left, she looked like she wanted to say something. 

Harry braced himself for the interrogation, determined to not give her anymore information than Snape had already given her, but she just shook her head at herself and moved on. Once she was done drawing his blood, she left him alone while she went to run the tests on his blood. 

Harry couldn’t quite believe that the healing potion he’d used could interfere all that much with the antidote, but then again, he didn’t exactly know much about potions. 

Once the door to Madam Pomfrey’s office closed, Harry peeled back the covers on the bed and slid under them. As he tried to pull the blankets back up over his legs, he was reminded of this morning, when Ron had tucked him in. 

Harry hoped that Ron and Hermione weren’t too worried about him, since they’d likely managed to work out where he’d gone. 

It was ridiculous that he even had to be here in the Hospital Wing. He wasn’t hurt badly enough to justify the risk of him being here. If Madam Pomfrey found out about the source of his injuries– about what his detentions with Umbridge entailed– she would probably try to do something about it, and Umbridge would fire her. McGonagall was probably at risk too, since Snape was apparently going to tell her everything. 

Hogwarts needed them too badly. The risk they were taking in order to treat hives that he could handle on his own was not worth it.

Harry continued to worry about would happen next– about whether Madam Pomfrey would push for answers about his hands and about what Snape’s conversation with McGonagall would result in. When Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office some time later, with a potion bottle falling her through the air, he was grateful for the distraction. 

“Alright, Mr Potter, the results are in. It looks like Severus has saved you from a long night here in my infirmary. The healing potion you used on your hands would have interacted with the antidote and peeled the skin off your hands entirely.”

Harry’s jaw dropped at what could have happened.

Madam Pomfrey caught his gaze. “That is correct, potions can have disastrous interactions, particularly in open wounds, and this is why you should always go to a professional for medical help.”

Harry nodded faintly, still stunned by how severe the much-touted interaction could have been. He’d assumed that the interaction would have been something minor– like cause more hives to pop up, or change the color of the hives, or something mostly harmless like that. 

“Moving on,” Madam Pomfrey said, “I have found an antidote that  _ should  _ clear up the hives. It will have no interaction with the healing potion you chose, which is why I want to try this one first. So, may I see your hand?”

Harry held out his left hand, and she took it. She plucked the bottle that had been floating near her head out of the air. She shifted both her stance and her grip on Harry’s wrist so that his hand was held over a clear portion of the floor. Then she poured out the liquid from the bottle over his hand, carefully rotating both the bottle and his wrist to make sure she covered all of the surface area. 

“How does it feel?” Madam Pomfrey asked, after she had released his hand. 

Harry turned his hand over, thinking about it for a moment. The liquid had felt like water on his hand, but the moment she’d stopped pouring, his hand had immediately felt dry again. And the hives didn’t really feel any different. “I don’t think it did much,” Harry said. 

Madam Pomfrey hummed thoughtfully. “I think I’ll treat the other hand too, then let you rest for a while. This antidote, if it works, is supposed to be slow-acting, and I’d rather not throw another potion into the mix unless it is absolutely necessary.” 

This made sense, so Harry nodded and held out his right hand for her. 

She repeated the process, but once she was done, she didn’t let go of his hand. Harry glanced up from his hand to her face and had to look away immediately at the look of immense concern on her face. 

“I refrained from asking about this because I wanted to work on treating the hives first. But Harry, why did you not come to me for treatment? I can tell that this is a new injury overlaid on an old one– who made you write this with a Black Quill?” 

Harry’s gut clenched. He kept his eyes averted and shook his head firmly. 

“I cannot do anything to help you if you won’t tell me anything,” Madam Pomfrey said pleadingly. 

The knot in Harry’s stomach clenched even tighter. He jerked his shoulders in a shrug and shook his head again. How could he tell her that her very desire to help was the reason that he refused to go to her in the first place? 

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Alright. I can see that this is not going anywhere, so I will leave you to rest. Let me know if you need anything at all– and I mean anything. I’ll be over in my office with the door open.” 

Harry nodded. As he listened to her receding footsteps, he brought his knees up to his chest and propped his forehead against them. 

He was finally alone. Now he could try and start sorting through his feelings. After his conversation with Madam Pomfrey, guilt was at the top of the pile. But lurking underneath that was a considerable amount of anger. 

Harry was sick of adults steam-rolling over his thoughts and opinions. He hadn’t  _ wanted _ to get help. And even now that he knew that the normal antidote would have been a horrible choice to treat his hands, he was still infuriated that Snape had literally dragged him to the floo and shoved him through it to the Hospital Wing. 

And his anger fed back into his guilt because, for once, Snape had actually been trying to be helpful. But then Harry remembered how high and mighty Snape had been about it, and he got angry all over again. 

Harry wished he could have just one school year where he was left alone. 

He sighed, doing his best to shove all his anger and guilt away. Then he slid down into a prone position on the bed and closed his eyes. 

It had already been such a terribly long day, and it wasn’t even over yet. 

* * *

The doors to the Hospital Wing slammed open with a resounding bang, startling Harry out of the doze he had been in. He propped himself up onto his elbows, curious as to who had barged in so rudely.

When Harry saw that it was Umbridge, he froze. His mind started to race as he tried to think of what she could possibly be doing here. Harry wondered, for a moment, if she had known he was here. Maybe Umbridge was worried about Madam Pomfrey discovering what she had done to him. 

But then he watched Umbridge make a beeline right for Madam Pomfrey’s office without even glancing at him, and he was able to discard that thought. 

Before Umbridge could make it all the way to the nurse’s office, Madam Pomfrey pushed her door open and stepped out. When Madam Pomfrey’s eyes landed on Umbridge, her face tightened in restrained dislike.

“What can I do for you?” Madam Pomfrey asked. 

“Good  _ afternoon, _ Madam Pomfrey,” Umbridge said, in the same way she did when prompting her class to greet her. 

Madam Pomfrey closed her eyes for just a moment longer than necessary. “Good afternoon, Pr-- Headmistress. What can I do for you?” 

Umbridge sighed. “Well, you see, I have had this terribly awful headache for  _ hours. _ I’m afraid it’s begun to interfere with my duties as Headmistress.” Here Umbridge paused, smiling expectantly.

Madam Pomfrey fixed her own smile onto her face. “Of course I can help. One moment, please.” She began to turn away, but Umbridge cleared her throat significantly, and so Madam Pomfrey froze.

“You are  _ dismissed _ ,” Umbridge said pointedly. 

Madam Pomfrey nodded curtly and resumed walking towards her medicinal cabinet. It took her a moment to sort through the potions, and then she turned back to Umbridge. “Here you are. Take two spoonfuls orally, every eight hours at least, and no more than four times in a 24-hour period.” 

Umbridge snatched the bottle out of Madam Pomfrey’s hands. 

“And how long, might I ask, until it  _ actually _ begins to work? Because you see, Madam Pomfrey, I am a very busy woman, and I simply do not have the time for subpar medication.” 

“It is dependent on many different things– for example, how much you’ve eaten today, how bad the headache is, and whether you’ve taken anything else for it– but it should take no longer than an hour following the dose. And each subsequent dosage should take less time to take effect,” Madam Pomfrey said evenly, her tone belied by the tightness of her face and stance. 

Umbridge uncapped the potion, then paused. “And where is the spoon?” 

Another grimace crossed Madam Pomfrey’s face. But she waved her wand and summoned a spoon from her office. “Here you are.” 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Umbridge said simperingly. She grabbed the spoon from Madam Pomfrey and deposited two spoonfuls of the potion into her toad-like mouth. After she had swallowed, she said, her tone light, “Are you quite sure that this is the correct potion? I find the taste to be… lacking.” 

“Flavorants counteract the action of the medicine.” 

Umbridge made a noise of disappointment. “It just seems to me that someone who was more competent in their position would be able to manage something as simple as ensuring that their medications do not taste disgusting.”

Madam Pomfrey neglected to answer, choosing instead to stand absolutely still with a painful smile frozen on her face.

After a long moment, Umbridge cleared her throat. “I will take my leave now, I have important tasks to be doing, after all, but you should think carefully about what I’ve said.” 

“Of course,” Madam Pomfrey said. She turned on her heel and strode back into her office, closing the door behind her with a firm click. 

Umbridge stared at the door for a moment. She turned to exit the infirmary, and that was when her eyes landed on Harry. 

Harry had been sitting as still as he could to avoid drawing attention to himself. And he had so nearly been successful _ –  _ but now Umbridge had seen him, and she would know that he’d been caught with his injuries. 

“Mr Potter? Have you been there this whole time?” she asked, her voice sickly sweet. 

Harry glanced desperately around the empty infirmary, hoping to see some way out of this. Of course, there was nothing, so he reluctantly focused back on Umbridge. “Yes, ma’am,” he said softly, his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Then why did you not greet me when I came in?” she asked, her lips spread in an approximation of a smile. 

Harry scrambled to think of an excuse, something he could say to reduce the trouble he would get in. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I was just–” 

“No excuses, Mr Potter,” Umbridge said, cutting him off. “You  _ know _ it is disrespectful to ignore your betters when they enter the room, and yet you did it anyways. It seems my lessons have yet to impart themselves upon you.” Here she stopped, her smile stretching wider yet, and her next words were slow, deliberate. “Children who are disrespectful must... be...  _ punished. _ You will report to my office for detention at 7 o’clock sharp tonight,” she finished, sounding satisfied. 

Harry’s hands had started to shake. “Yes, ma’am,” he said quietly. 

“Really, you should thank me for taking the time out of my busy schedule to discipline you,” Umbridge said, tilting her head to the side. 

Harry had to force the words out of his mouth. “Thank you, ma’am.” 

“Very good,” Umbridge said. “Have a good afternoon, Mr Potter. I will see you at seven.” 

“Have a good afternoon, Professor,” Harry echoed. 

Finally, Umbridge spun on her heel and marched out of the infirmary. As soon as the doors to the infirmary closed behind her, Harry slumped bonelessly back onto his pillows, some of the tension draining out of his body. 

Some, but not all, because now he had to worry about his  _ new _ detention with Umbridge. 

At the thought of what he’d be doing in a couple short hours, Harry turned onto his side and pulled his knees up. He folded his hands against his chest, as if, by curling protectively around his hands, he’d be able to protect them from what was to come. 

Harry stared blankly at the far wall of the Hospital Wing as he continued to think. Surely Umbridge had given him detention to punish him for being caught in the infirmary. Because while she’d never explicitly threatened him into silence, it had been understood that the detentions were just between them. 

And on the day after he’d had a detention with her, there was little else she could assume he was in the infirmary for. Especially since she’d done something new last night. 

To distract himself from these thoughts, Harry uncurled himself slightly and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. The moment he wrapped his hand around the glass, he exclaimed “Oh!”, and yanked his hand back against his chest. 

He clutched at his left wrist with his right hand as he waited with gritted teeth for the pain to fade back to manageable levels. 

“Mr Potter? Are you alright?” Madam Pomfrey asked, coming to a halt next to Harry’s bed. 

“I’m fine,” Harry said automatically.

“Then what happened?” Madam Pomfrey asked skeptically.

“I was just trying to grab the glass of water, and, well…” Harry trailed off, glancing at his hand.

“Let me see your hand, then,” Madam Pomfrey said, holding out her own hand.

Harry reluctantly held his out. Madam Pomfrey spent some time examining it, turning it over to catch the light. Then she cast several spells Harry had never heard of. When that was done, she waved her wand and summoned a jar of cream from her medicine cabinet. She wasted no time in opening the jar and spreading the cream onto Harry’s burn. 

“I was reluctant to use this until after I worked out the hives,” she explained. “But it appears as though the hives are fading away, so it should be alright to treat the burn now.” 

Harry hadn’t thought that she would be able to do anything for the burn. Or for the cut, really. Hermione had said something about dark magic interfering with the healing, so Harry had just assumed that there was nothing to be done to further accelerate the healing process. 

“That ought to do it. And while I’m at it, let me see your other hand, too.” 

Harry held out his right hand, dazed, and pulled his left hand in towards himself so he could examine it. The skin was no longer the angry red color it had been since his last detention. The skin there was now just a few shades lighter than the color of the rest of his hand. 

Harry experimentally opened and closed his fist a couple times. The discolored patch moved differently from the rest of his skin. It kept its shape longer than the rest of his skin did, and then it also took longer to relax back to normal. It felt like the skin was thicker now. And it was more sensitive, too. Not by a lot, but enough to be noticeable and distinct from the rest of his hand.

By the time Harry had finished examining the freshly healed burn, Madam Pomfrey had finished sorting out his other hand, too. Harry pulled his right hand closer to himself and flipped it over so he could stare in amazement at both healed injuries at once. 

Then his stomach plummeted as he realized that, because he had detention tonight, Umbridge would be expecting his hands to be as injured as they had been yesterday. And since she’d seen him in the Hospital Wing, this would only serve as confirmation for her that he’d broken and gone running for help. 

The pressing weight of disappointment settled onto his chest when he realized that he would only get to enjoy his miraculously pain-free hands for a couple hours before he would have to go and injure himself all over again. 

“Mr Potter?” Madam Pomfrey asked. 

Harry ripped his thoughts away from the downward spiral they’d been dropping into and said, “Yes?”

“I wanted to make sure you know that you will not be going to detention with that woman.” 

“What– no, I have to or–” Harry stammered out. Umbridge would make things much worse for him if he tried to hide in the Hospital Wing.

“No, you do not,” Madam Pomfrey said. “I will be sorting it out. You are in no condition to sit through a– through a…  _ detention _ .” 

Harry shook his head mutely. This was precisely why he had not come to the Hospital Wing to begin with. “You can’t– she’ll  _ fire _ you,” Harry said desperately. “We need you here.” 

Madam Pomfrey smiled kindly. “There’s nothing to worry about. She will never know that I was involved.” 

Harry took in a deep, calming breath to head off the desperate rant he could feel building in his chest. There was clearly nothing he was going to be able to say to dissuade her from this; there was no use in him wasting his breath. He nodded and glanced away. 

“You’ll see, it will all be alright,” Madam Pomfrey said kindly. Then she cleared her throat and said, “I think you’re all set to have dinner now, so I will go ahead and order that for you. I’d like you to eat as much as you can because getting better is hard work!”

Harry nodded again and muttered, “Thank you.” His chest felt tight, and he felt torn. He was upset that yet another adult was steam-rolling over what he wanted, but at the same time, he didn’t really know how to respond to the care in her voice and manner.

Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey didn’t seem to expect more of a response, because she just smiled at him and walked over to the fireplace. 

Harry tuned her out as his thoughts drifted back to what she had said to him. She had said that he wouldn’t have to go to detention, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. She had also said that she wasn’t going to get directly involved, but he struggled to believe that, too. 

Harry sighed and shook his head slightly to clear it. Madam Pomfrey would do as she liked, and there was nothing Harry could do to change her mind.

He could never do much to sway the adults in his life, no matter how hard he tried. 

It wasn’t long after Madam Pomfrey had called the kitchens that she returned to set a tray of food on Harry’s lap before returning to her office. Harry decided to enjoy the chance to carelessly use the utensils without worrying about his hands, since he was sure that he would still have to go to detention after dinner.

When Harry was about halfway through his dinner, Professor McGonagall came out of Madam Pomfrey’s office. She was closely followed by Madam Pomfrey herself. They both came over to Harry’s bed, and Professor McGonagall conjured chairs for herself and Madam Pomfrey to sit in. 

“Er, hello Professor,” Harry said nervously, setting his utensils down. His detention was supposed to be soon, and so he assumed that was why she was here. 

Still, Harry hoped that she wasn’t, because she was just about the worst person– besides Madam Pomfrey– to be getting involved, in his opinion. Professor McGonagall was one of the professors most likely to stand up to Umbridge on behalf of the students. And, of course, everyone needed Madam Pomfrey to be here to heal them. 

“Do you mind if we join you for dinner?” Professor McGonagall asked. 

“Sure,” Harry said. It wasn’t like he could just say no, though he wasn’t entirely sure why they wanted to eat with him– unless… maybe Professor McGonagall was here to tell him that he  _ would _ have to go to detention with Umbridge. Maybe Madam Pomfrey had tried to convince Professor McGonagall to intervene, but Professor McGonagall had said no because she knew saving Harry from a single detention wasn’t worth it.

Professor McGonagall summoned two dinner trays from Madam Pomfrey’s office. Both women immediately tucked into their respective dinners, so Harry copied them. 

Harry was grateful they didn’t seem to expect him to participate much in their conversation, because he really didn’t feel up to chatting with his detention still looming on the horizon. Instead, he half-listened to them discuss some recent innovations in Medicalized Transfiguration.

When everyone was done eating, Madam Pomfrey banished all of their trays. 

“Alright, Mr Potter. Are you ready to go?” Professor McGonagall asked, standing up. 

“Go?” Harry asked, frowning. He had thought he there was still some time before he had to go to detention. No one had said anything about it, but it was still the most reasonable assumption.

“You’re going to Grimmauld Place to visit with Padfoot for the evening,” Professor McGonagall said. 

Harry stared blankly at her. “But– Umbridge,” Harry managed to say. 

“Is of no concern,” Professor McGonagall said. Then she drew her wand and cast several wards. “It is not safe to discuss it here– it is too public.” 

Right. Even the walls had ears. Harry nodded. 

Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, this time banishing the wards. “So, are you ready to go?” she asked. 

This time Harry nodded as he began to pull himself out of bed. Then he flushed as he realized he was still wearing the hospital gown. 

“Would you like me to transfigure that into a set of pajamas?” Professor McGonagall asked. 

Harry nodded quickly. Then, once he was dressed more reasonably in a set of pajamas, he finally pulled himself out of bed. 

“How am I getting there?” he asked. 

“You will be using the floo in Poppy’s office,” Professor McGonagall said. 

“Alright,” Harry said. He assumed it must be safe to floo from there, since Professor McGonagall had taken care to not discuss things in the open air of the Hospital Wing. 

Before he knew it, Harry was being whisked away from Hogwarts– and the potential for him to attend a detention– to the safety of Grimmauld Place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this was honestly an emotional rollercoaster, like Harry just feels things and keeps on feeling them and to convey the feelings properly i end up feeling them too so it was just a big oof field– like when umbridge comes into the hospital wing and spews her bs everywhere, really wanted to punch her. but at least harry got to have a pleasant dinner with mcgonagall and pomfrey :D 
> 
> please comment!! and make sure to check out my tumblr, [waitingondaisies](https://waitingondaisies.tumblr.com/) for sneak peeks and updates!


	4. plan

Severus decided that he had wasted enough time pondering the day’s events at his desk. It was time for him to go speak with Minerva. Severus slowly pulled himself to his feet. From there, it took mere seconds for him to make his way around his desk, to the fireplace, and from there to floo to Minerva’s office. 

“Severus?” Minerva asked, looking up from the stack of paperwork on her desk. “This is unexpected– is everything alright?”

Severus took a moment to brush off any soot from the fireplace that might have clung to him. Then he looked up, made heavy eye contact with Minerva, and said, “No, everything is decidedly not alright.” 

Minerva frowned and waved her wand, exchanging the students chair in front of her desk for a much more comfortable chair. “Take a seat, then, and tell me what is going on.”

Severus took the proffered seat and held his silence for a moment while he ordered his thoughts. “Today, during Potter’s potions class, there was an incident,” Severus began slowly.

“Potter’s potion exploded, splashing onto everyone in his vicinity. Whatever it was, exactly, that Potter created, soaked through students’ robes without a trace and caused a breakout of hives. I was able to administer an antidote to most of the afflicted students, but Potter was difficult about allowing me to treat him.

“He tried to slip out of the classroom before I had a chance to assess his situation. When I finally convinced him to show me his arms– the only place the potion had landed on him– I saw that his hands were wrapped in bandages. As I said, the potion in question will soak clear through any material without a trace, so it was clear that he must have had hives beneath the bandages. 

“This complicated the situation, of course, because the presence of bandages implied that he had previously been treated for an injury. Depending on the treatment, there could be a dangerous interaction with the antidote I was using. 

“Again, Potter was difficult, but I managed to convince him to let me see the injuries. His hands were still in poor shape, but worse than that, Potter informed me that he never went to Poppy for treatment. And after further persuasion, he finally told me that the injuries were caused by Umbridge.”

As Severus had spoken, Minerva’s countenance had grown darker and darker. When he finally fell silent, Minerva responded. “You mean to say that Umbridge has been hurting him– here? At Hogwarts? When– no, not… It must have been during those damned detentions.”

“It was.”

This caused Minerva’s face to transform from grim fury to despondency. “I have failed that poor boy in so many ways,” she whispered morosely. “I told him to keep his head down– I even reprimanded him further for getting more detentions, earlier in the school year. It is no wonder he never came to me.” 

Then Minerva cleared her throat, settling her expression into something more neutral. “I am sure that I do not want to know, but what, exactly, did she do to him?”

Severus braced himself for Minerva’s inevitably poor reaction. “Umbridge forced him to use a Black Quill to write lines, and before you ask, the line was ‘I must not tell lies’. And I am not sure what caused the injury on his other hand, but it looked to be a severe, localized burn.” 

At this, Minerva’s countenance lost any neutrality it might have held and became downright thunderous. “You mean to say,” Minerva said, her voice frighteningly calm, “that that– that–  _ hag _ used a Black Quill on one of my students? In  _ my  _ school?” 

Severus held his silence. With Minerva this angry, it was better to stay out of it until she had calmed down, at least until she was coherent again. 

Minerva got up from her desk and began to pace around her office. It was cliche, but Severus was inexorably reminded of a lioness pacing in her cage. 

“This cannot stand,” Minerva finally said, after several long minutes of stalking around and muttering under her breath. 

Severus nodded his agreement; that much was obvious.

“Albus is gone, and all of our positions are at risk because of that power-hungry bitch, so we will have to be extraordinarily careful about this,” Minerva said. “I believe this is a situation that calls more for cunning and cleverness than bravery and valor–”

Just then, the fireplace flared a bright, emerald green. A moment later, Poppy’s head appeared in the flames. Severus got to his feet and joined Minerva in standing by the fireplace. 

“Poppy, what is it?” Minerva asked worriedly. 

“Minerva– oh, Severus, if you’re there, then Minerva, you must already know that Mr Potter is currently in my care, yes?” Poppy asked Minerva. 

Minerva nodded brusquely.

“Good, that’s less I have to explain. Potter was resting peacefully after I treated his hives, when Umbridge came sweeping into  _ my _ infirmary and gave Mr Potter a detention because he did not address her when she came in, of all things! She scheduled it for this evening at seven o’clock, and he is certainly not well enough to attend detention with that– with  _ her _ ,” Poppy spilled out in a rush. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Fix this.”

Before Minerva or Severus could respond, Poppy turned to face Severus directly. “Oh, and Severus? I assume that the reason you wanted me to wait to release Potter until after you contacted me had something to do with this possibility?” 

It had mostly been a tactic to delay telling Poppy about Umbridge until after Severus had discussed it with McGonagall. But he simply nodded, not wanting to waste time getting into that when they clearly had bigger problems. 

Then Pomfrey glanced over her shoulder, deeper into the infirmary. “I have to go, but I expect Mr Potter to be able to rest peacefully this evening.” With that, she cut off the connection, leaving Severus and Minerva alone in Minerva’s office once again. 

Minerva began pacing her office anew. She was muttering under her breath, and from the expression on her face, Severus was willing to bet that none of it boded well for Umbridge. Taking care to avoid her path, Severus resumed his seat in front of her desk.

Eventually, Minerva sighed and migrated back to her desk, sitting down. “As relieving as that was, we still have to figure out how the hell to fix this.” 

“Hold on,” Severus said slowly. He had the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. He didn’t like the plan, per se, but it would solve their most pressing problems, and that was more important than what Severus wanted, at the moment. 

While the pieces of the plan were falling into place, he realized that this plan would involve him publicly opposing Umbridge. He worried, for the briefest of moments, about how the Dark Lord would react to this, especially since Severus had spent so much time pretending to support her specifically to appease the Dark Lord. 

But then Severus thought about it for a moment longer, and realized that the Dark Lord would react poorly to someone other than himself marking Potter permanently. So Severus thought that the Dark Lord could be made to see that there was a difference here, between opposing Umbridge and supporting Dumbledore.

And besides, if it came down to it, Severus could say that McGonagall had made him participate in the plan, which would be wholly believable thanks to the nature of it. 

“What Umbridge is doing is undeniably illegal, yes?” Severus finally asked.

Minerva nodded slowly. “But we’ll never get  _ proof _ – with the current smear campaign against Potter, and his minor status, there is little chance his testimony will sway a courtroom.” 

Severus smiled grimly. “But my word and my experience would have a much better chance of swaying a court.” 

“Yes, but then Umbridge could argue that you were mistaken about the cause of the injuries– wait. Oh, Severus, surely you don’t mean to–”

“It is the best plan. If I take Potter’s place during his detention, then he will be spared from it. And by taking his place, I can gather the information we need to build a strong case against Umbridge,” Severus said grimly. 

“I cannot let you do this, Severus. There must be another way,” Minerva said. 

“If there is, I would love to hear it,” Severus said, instinctively knowing that this was their best plan to accomplish all they needed to– namely, preventing Potter from enduring another torture session and gathering evidence to oust Umbridge from their school. 

Minerva began to pace around her office again, muttering to herself this time. She kept going for far longer than she had before. 

Eventually, she came to a halt and said, “I still do not like this, but I do have a suggestion. Poppy ought to be the one to file a complaint, she is well respected and her word is less easily dismissed– you know someone would argue that your former status as a Death Eater makes anything you say suspect.”

“That will work,” Severus said. “So, after the detention, I ought to go right to Poppy so she can gather the evidence necessary to file the report.”

Minerva nodded firmly.

“Then our final step is that we must find something to do with Potter while I am impersonating him, because it is entirely too risky to have two people bearing his appearance in the building at the same time. We will also require some other items for me to impersonate him properly– like a lock of his hair, a replica of his wand and glasses, and a uniform,” Severus said.

“That first one is easy– it is a Friday, so we can send Harry to Grimmauld Place to spend the night with Sirius. As for the second, I think we ought to try and get the hair without his knowledge. I have the feeling that he would object to this plan, and besides, the fewer people who know of the plan, the better.”

“Then how do you suggest we get his hair?” Severus asked incredulously. “We are already running low on time, and we still need to retrieve some Polyjuice Potion, find a set of school robes, transfigure a replica of Potter’s wand, and transfigure a replica of Potter’s glasses,” Severus listed off in a rush.

“Leave the hair to me. And I can handle the robes too, actually,” Minerva said. She waved her wand and a full set of a Gryffindor uniform appeared on her desk. “There you are. Shall we split up so you can retrieve the potion and– do you have a clear enough image to transfigure the wand and glasses yourself?” 

“I do.” 

“Then let us be off. Meet back here when we’re done?” Minerva asked. 

Minerva’s office was much more centrally located than Severus’s was, so it made the most sense. He nodded and turned to floo back to his office. 

Once there, his actions finally caught up with him. He had volunteered to take Potter’s place for what was essentially a torture session with Umbridge. Severus knew why he had done it: he’d sworn to protect Potter, Potter was a mere child, they needed evidence against Umbridge, and other reasons that were not as easy to articulate. 

But it was still difficult to wrap his mind around the decision that he had made. 

Severus forced himself to push away thoughts of what was to come so that he could focus on what he needed to do in the moment. He needed to collect the Polyjuice Potion and the things he would be transfiguring: a stirring rod, and a pair of sunglasses.

It took him no time at all to collect the items. He sat down at his desk and transfigured the sunglasses into Potter’s glasses first, since that was the easier task of the two. Then he closed his eyes for a moment and built as clear a visual of Potter’s wand as he could manage. When he was satisfied, he waved his wand and transfigured the stirring rod. 

He now held a reasonable replica of Potter’s wand. He stowed it, along with the glasses and the Polyjuice Potion, in his pockets and set off for Minerva’s office again. 

When he arrived, the office was still empty. Severus walked back over to Minerva’s desk and set the replicas of Potter’s possessions onto the stack of the uniform. Then he sat back down in the visitor chair and settled in to wait for Minerva to return. 

In the silence of Minerva’s empty office, his thoughts turned back to what he would soon be facing.

He would have to really sell his performance as Potter, because they couldn’t risk Umbridge becoming suspicious. They hadn’t yet had time to build a substantial case against her, and if she discovered their plan she could fire them, thus ending any opportunity they would have to protect their students or build a case against her.

Which meant that Severus needed to construct a mental image of how Potter acted in detention, so he could have something to base his performance off of. 

The hours Severus had spent supervising Potter in detention were finally coming in handy. Severus looked back on those memories, focusing particularly on the more recent ones since they would be the most likely to still be reflective of Potter’s behavior. 

As he looked back, Severus was startled to realize that Potter tended to put his head down and just get through it. Particularly when he was in detention alone and without his friends– like this detention with Umbrige would be. 

Severus brought himself back to the present. He was oddly disappointed by this revelation– he would have liked to have been able to do  _ something, anything at all,  _ besides sit there in Potter’s place and grit his teeth. But given that Potter was supposed to be going to the detention straight from the Hospital Wing, it didn’t make any sense for him to be  _ more _ rebellious than normal. 

So Severus was going to have to do what Potter would do– grit his teeth and bear it. 

At least it would be manageable. Because if Potter, a fifteen year old boy, could manage to bear it, then Severus, a grown adult with heavy experience in surviving unpleasant things, could manage just fine. 

And then, once Severus was done with the detention, he would be able to go straight to Poppy, and they could proceed to bring about Umbridge’s downfall. This would be a pleasant enough thought to carry him through the detention.

The door to McGonagall’s office opened. “Severus?” Minerva asked as she closed the door behind her. 

“Here,” Severus said, twisting around in the chair. 

“Ah, good, you are back. I have managed to discreetly acquire his hair. All we need to do now is decide on the logistics of getting Mr Potter out of the building and replacing him with you,” Minerva said. Then she added, “Oh, and we do need to eat.”

“And one of us needs to inform Poppy of whatever we decide regarding removing Potter from the situation,” Severus said. 

“If you go eat in the Great Hall, Severus, I can go eat with Poppy– something I often do– to update her, and your presence in the Great Hall should prevent Umbridge from getting suspicious.” 

Severus was not particularly a fan of eating in the Great Hall on a day like this, but he could recognize the wisdom in the plan, so he nodded. 

“The detention is at seven, so we have little time to plan before you need to make an appearance at dinner,” Minerva said. 

“Very well. I ought to go to the Hospital Wing to take the Polyjuice Potion, so I can leave as Potter and head directly to the detention. That means that Potter must be gone by the time I arrive,” Severus said.

“And I can carry the things you will need to augment your impersonation myself, because it is best for you not to be carrying those things and the Polyjuice Potion at the same time. I will leave them in Poppy’s office for you.” 

“You ought to warn the mutt about our plan while you’re in Poppy’s office,” Severus said reluctantly.

“Good plan,” Minerva said. “I shall make sure to do that after I catch Poppy up, but before we go to eat with Potter. Oh, and I almost forgot– Potter’s hair.” She held out a small, clear bag that contained a few strands of dark hair. 

Severus accepted the bag, and then pulled out the bottle of Polyjuice Potion he’d acquired from his office. He uncorked the bottle with one hand and dropped the hairs in with the other, then re-corked the bottle. He would need to drink from the bottle during the detention, and so he transfigured it into a standard– though opaque– water bottle, which he placed into one of his many pockets for the time being.

A comfortable silence had fallen between him and Minerva. Severus searched his brain for anything that they might have missed or neglected to account for. A lot was at stake with this plan, so they needed to execute it as perfectly as possible. Severus refused to put his bodily health in danger for anything less. 

“Can you think of anything we have missed?” Minerva asked. 

Severus paused, then slowly shook his head. “I think we have planned for everything we possibly can. And of course, we will have the ability to improvise and adapt if things start to go awry.” 

“Of course.”

Minerva got to her feet, and so did Severus. 

“We ought to be on our way, then,” Minerva said. 

Severus nodded. He stuck his hand out for Minerva to shake, and she grabbed it firmly. But then she pulled on his hand and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. 

“Thank you for doing this,” she whispered. 

Then she released the hug and cleared her throat. Severus was still slightly stunned from the hug, so he continued to stand, silent. 

“Right, well. I am off to see Poppy,” Minerva said. Then she turned and walked out of her office. 

Severus immediately pulled himself out of his stupor and, after taking a moment to collect himself, he strode out of Minerva’s office and towards the Great Hall. 

* * *

Severus slipped out of the Great Hall a bit before the end of dinner. He had managed to show up in time to avoid sitting next to Umbridge, so he had managed to have a relatively peaceful meal. 

Now he was heading through the hallways to the Hospital Wing. He thought he had managed to time his departure well enough that Minerva should have gotten Potter to Grimmauld Place, meaning that Severus should also have enough time to get into disguise, but if he had not, there was not much he could do about it now. 

Thankfully, when Severus cracked open the door to the infirmary, he was greeted with silence. He pushed the door the rest of the way open and strode over to Poppy’s office, where Minerva ought to have left his supplies. 

“Poppy?” he called, knocking on the door. 

“Come in, come in,” Poppy called from inside. 

Severus pushed his way inside. Poppy was seated at her desk, filling in some paperwork. Without looking up, she gestured to one of the desk chairs. “Minerva left some things for you there.” 

Sure enough, there on the chair were the things he was going to need. Severus picked up the pile and looked back at Poppy. She had already returned to her work, so Severus quietly slipped out of her office, so as to not disturb her. 

Severus walked over to one of the beds surrounded by privacy curtains and pulled them shut behind him. Then he set the clothing items onto the bed and cast a temporary expansion charm on them. He had no desire to see more of Potter’s body than he had to, so he would be changing into the uniform before taking the Polyjuice Potion. 

With all the parts of his disguise acquired and prepared, there was no reason to delay any longer. He quickly doffed his own teaching attire and pulled on the temporarily enlarged uniform. Then he pulled the Polyjuice Potion out of his pocket and forced down a large swallow. 

Immediately, his stomach began to writhe. This was followed by the sensation of his skin melting like hot wax as it rearranged itself. Deep in his bones, he felt a painful pressure as his body reformed itself into Potter’s. 

The first thing he noticed was how abominably blurry everything was. Severus grabbed the transfigured glasses from the pile on the bed and set them on his face. Then he retrieved his own wand from the pocket of his robes, which were on the bed, and cast a spell to adjust the prescription on the glass. 

Now able to see properly, Severus was momentarily surprised by how very  _ small _ Potter was. Objectively, he knew that Potter was small– he saw the boy often enough to know that. But it was another thing entirely to view the world from this lower perspective. 

Then Severus looked down at Potter’s hands– his hands, now– and was relieved to see that the hives had been removed without a trace, and that the other injuries on Potter’s hands were at least healed, though badly scarred. 

When the uniform automatically resized itself to fit, conforming to his new, smaller stature, Severus cast  _ Tempus.  _

He was beginning to run low on time. He shoved both his replica wand and the water bottle containing the Polyjuice Potion into the uniform pocket. He carefully placed his wand into the pocket of his teaching robes, and then folded the robes into a compact stack of cloth.

On his way out of the Hospital Wing, Severus stopped by Poppy’s office to drop off his robes and wand. He had little desire to risk Umbridge finding his belongings on Harry Potter– that was the last thing they needed, for Umbridge to accuse Potter of thievery.

Severus was not at all a fan of being in Umbridge’s presence without a functioning wand. He had to admit, though, that it was likely for the best that he would not have the capability to give into an urge to attack or retaliate against her. 

Severus exited the infirmary and began to hurry towards Umbridge’s office, mostly driven by his reluctance to make things worse for himself by being late. After he had strode confidently down several hallways, he realized that he was still walking like himself. 

He slowed for a moment, trying to recall how Potter walked. A quick scan of his memories seemed to suggest that Potter tended to walk with his shoulders hunched and his head down. 

Severus quickly adopted the new pose and resumed his walk to Umbridge’s office, though he found it odd that Potter didn’t strut around like he owned the place, as he would have said Potter did, if anyone was to ask. Severus’s scan of his own memories precluded the influence of expectations, though, so he knew his observations had been accurate.

Realizing that he had slowed again, Severus refocused on maintaining an imitation of Potter’s demeanor and continued walking. 

In no time at all, Severus found himself standing outside Umbridge’s office door. He came to a halt and stared at the nameplate. 

What he had agreed to do– what he had suggested– was just now starting to feel  _ real.  _ Severus had agreed to take Potter’s place in this detention, knowing what Umbridge did, knowing that he would essentially be sacrificing himself for Potter.

And no one had pushed him into it. 

But at this moment, he was out of time, and there was no way to back out of it now. Severus took in one last deep breath and knocked on the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im not sure what happened with the last chapter, but there was a pretty dramatic drop in the number of comments I got on it compared to the number I got on the first two. that didn't feel great, so I'd really appreciate it if we could get back to where we were at before :D


	5. endure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cannot thank [duplicity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity) enough for being the best beta a woman could ask for <333

“Come in,” Umbridge said in a sickly-sweet voice.

Severus grimaced, then wiped the expression from his face before pushing the door open. 

His eyes were immediately assaulted by an explosion of  _ pink _ and  _ cat  _ as he walked through and came to a halt in front of her desk. Then his eyes fell on Umbridge herself. She was sitting at her desk, back straight and shoulders square. Severus was sure that she thought her smile was ‘girlish’ or ‘sweet’, but the pure malice it contained sent a shiver down his spine. 

Umbridge remained expectantly silent, and it took Severus a moment to realize what she was waiting for. 

“Good evening, Headmistress,” Severus said, as politely as he could manage. 

“Good evening, Mr Potter,” Umbridge said. She gestured at the table next to her desk. “Have a seat so we can get started.”

Severus’s eyes fell upon the lace-covered table. He walked over to it and sat down in the hard, wooden chair. In front of him was a piece of parchment, the Black Quill lying innocently on top of it. He stared blankly at the quill, delaying the moment he would have to start carving into his own hand.

“Just a moment, Mr Potter,” Umbridge said, as she got up from her seat. She walked around her desk and over to where he was seated, looming over him. 

Severus looked up and saw that an expression that was probably meant to be stern had fallen over her face. 

“Let me see your hand,” Umbridge said, her own hand held out expectantly. 

Severus reluctantly complied, though he had to hold back a grimace at the feel of her too-soft hands against his own. 

“Tut, tut, Mr Potter. I must say, I am disappointed that you’ve gone and undone all of  _ our _ hard work,” Umbridge said, then heaved a heavy sigh. “No matter. We shall simply have to put in some extra work to make sure that my lesson truly sinks in this time.” 

Severus saw her reach for her wand, and though every instinct screamed for him to get up, to pull his own wand first, he forced himself to remain seated. He was especially glad that he’d controlled himself when he remembered that he did not have a functioning wand with him.

Umbridge cast some spell that yanked his left hand away from his body, pinning his arm to the lacey table, palm up. 

The sight of his palm– Harry’s palm– stretched out on top of the table, accompanied, particularly, by the scar from the burn, reminded Severus that he had never found out how Umbridge had inflicted that particular wound. 

Severus turned his head back around to watch Umbridge. The stone she was holding appeared to be completely innocuous. But when she placed it onto his palm, Severus could feel the dark magic radiating out from it seeping into his skin. His entire arm, down to the fingers, shivered– the only motion his left arm was still capable of. 

Severus realized, moments later, that the cold press of the stone into his palm felt much like grabbing a door handle at Malfoy Manor. 

And yet Severus did not recognize the stone. He ought to, as it was clearly a dark object– but its appearance was so commonplace that Severus was having a hard time identifying it. 

Severus cursed Umbridge’s proclivity for finding obscure torture devices. Immediately after he had completed this thought, a searing pain pierced through the skin of his left palm. It was all Severus could do to keep himself from crying out. 

Once he could breathe again, Severus looked up, catching Umbridge’s eye as she grinned maliciously. 

“Did you have a question, Mr Potter?” Umbridge asked sweetly. “We have a lot of work to do, so you’d best get started.” 

Severus grimaced and picked up the Black Quill. He shifted in his seat, again trying to delay the moment when he had to begin writing. But when his left arm failed to move with the rest of his body, this only served as a reminder of the searing pain he had just experienced. 

Suddenly, the identification of the stone was clear in his mind. It was clearly a modified Ardere Saxo Malae. In the past, they had been used in interrogations, though they had been outlawed around the same time as other forms of corporal punishment. 

Severus had no idea how she’d gotten her hands on one, nor did he know how she had managed to modify it so it would burn when– when– actually, Severus wasn’t yet sure what, precisely, triggered the stone to burn. 

Umbridge cleared her throat expectantly, so Severus set aside his thoughts on the stone for the time being, grit his teeth, and set the quill to parchment. 

_ I must not tell lies. _

How ironic that this was the line Severus was to write, when his very presence here was a lie in and of itself. The rest of his amusement at this irony was cut off by an outburst of acute pain on the back of his right hand.

Severus stared in horror as the words appeared on his hand as though they had been carved into his skin with a scalpel. He’d known, objectively, how barbaric the use of a Black Quill was. But the reality was that he hadn’t actually  _ known _ how awful it felt. 

Now he knew. 

The quill carved into the back of his hand, causing all the pain that action implied. As he stared in his horror at the phrase shining red against the old scarring, the words began to fade away, leaving behind a lingering rawness and a slightly darker cast on the scar. 

Umbridge was still staring at him, so Severus steeled himself and wrote another line. Again, the line appeared on the back of his hand, accompanied by another debilitating throb of agony as his blood was once again extracted. 

To distract himself from the repeated pain of writing the line, Severus thought back to the stone. He was curious as to what triggered the burning action– though this curiosity was mostly for the sake of being able to avoid triggering it. 

He knew that deliberately trying to trigger the stone was a poor choice given the amount of pain he was already in, but he could think of nothing better to do to distract himself from the continual torture of writing lines. 

To try and find a starting point, Severus recalled what he’d been thinking of when he first felt the pain. He’d been trying to remember what the stone was called… and then he’d thought something insulting about Umbridge. 

That must be it. The stone must trigger when it detected malicious thoughts directed at Umbridge. 

Severus debated the wisdom of testing this theory. Then he decided that it was necessary, if only so he could use the information when he testified in court. 

So, steeling himself for the pain, Severus thought,  _ Umbridge is an incompetent waste of space. _

The response from the stone was immediate and intense– a horrible burning that he could feel right down to the bone. He faltered in writing his next line as he did his level best to not react visibly. Potter had never given Severus the satisfaction of seeing his upset, so Severus doubted that Potter would have ever allowed Umbridge to see his pain. 

Severus decided that the two activations of the stone were all the evidence he was willing to collect on that particular instrument. He quickly resumed writing lines, remembering that Umbridge would be watching for him to falter.

As he continued to write, he retreated into his Occlumency shields, building a quick track to guide his thoughts away from dangerous topics– namely, anything to do directly with Umbridge. 

He would have to remember to remove them later, but for now, it would help him avoid the pain of the stone. 

Severus wondered, for a moment, why the stone had immediately started out at such intense levels of heat–from what he remembered of the stone’s function, it was meant to start out mildly. Then he realized that he was in  _ Potter’s _ body, and Potter had clearly been subjected to the stone before– often enough that the stone had begun to burn him badly enough to scar. 

So when Severus thought something forbidden, it picked up at the level Potter had last pushed it to. 

As he painfully etched out yet another “ _ I must not tell lies” _ , Severus was struck with the realization that Potter must have accumulated an immense amount of pain tolerance.

A quick glance at Umbridge showed that she was staring at him with a dazed, disturbing sort of smile on her face. 

Severus braced himself against the wave of nausea that this look induced and quickly looked back down at the parchment in front of him. He took in a steadying breath and forced himself to continue writing. 

Disturbing implications aside, Umbridge’s expression was proof enough that Severus’s behavior was not out of the ordinary for Potter. There had been no confusion in her gaze, no searching looks– just disturbing satisfaction. Which meant that Severus must have been right about Potter’s stoicism during these detentions. 

For a moment, his thoughts stalled. In the lull, his mind latched onto the pressing weight of the pain in both his hands. 

Frantically, Severus searched for something else to distract himself with. Somehow, he landed on the stories he had heard of the scene in the graveyard– and of the pain Potter had gone through then. 

Severus hadn’t given it much thought before– he usually preferred to avoid thinking about it at all, since he viewed that whole disaster as yet another breach of his oath to protect Lily’s child. But now, he remembered that Potter had been subjected to the Dark Lord’s  _ Cruciatus Curse _ – twice. 

At the time, Potter had been merely fourteen, and he had not only  _ survived _ the torture curse when cast by one of the most powerful wizards alive, but he had gone on to duel the Dark Lord– ultimately escaping with both his life and Diggory’s body. Remarkably, Potter had done all that  _ after _ the Dark Lord had tortured him. 

Whatever else Severus could say about Potter– and there was certainly a lot– Potter had a truly impressive pain tolerance. 

Severus’s thoughts again subsided in the absence of any new stimuli. The next few lines felt all the more painful for the lack of distracting thoughts. The effort it was taking to continue to grit his teeth and set the quill to parchment was increasing slowly but surely. 

Severus knew that Umbridge would be all too delighted if he reacted visibly. And, if Severus even bothered to ask for mercy, she would derive far too much enjoyment from saying no. 

Suddenly, Severus intimately understood why Potter would choose to remain stoic, even at the cost of his own well-being. When no  _ effective _ action was possible– and any action from this position would seem ineffective, at least to Potter– it was better to affect indifference than to give the tormentor the satisfaction of a reaction. 

So Severus continued to hold his silence and etch out the lines. 

Through the pain, Severus wished he could do something– anything– to brace himself against the continual, horrible, agony of the quill. But with his left hand pinned so firmly and his right hand occupied, there was little he could do besides clench his teeth. 

Once again, Severus sought to distract himself by glancing up. He saw that Umbridge was staring pointedly at his hands with another expectant smile. 

He dropped his gaze once more. This time, though, he had something new to occupy his thoughts. The smile concerned him. Severus glanced over at his hands, where Umbridge had been staring. 

A moment later, the pieces fell into place. Umbridge would be inspecting his hands at the end of the detention– to see if the ‘lesson’ had sunk in. 

His right hand clearly needed no help. Each time he wrote the line, the words took longer and longer to fade away. But his left hand… Severus had managed to make it this far without thinking of anything incriminating, so the pain had long since faded, eclipsed by the pain in his right hand by several orders of magnitude. 

And if Potter had been burned badly enough to scar, then Umbridge would certainly expect to see at least  _ some _ burnt skin. Severus could not afford to risk arousing her suspicions, so he would have to conform to her expectations. 

This meant he had to remove his Occlumency guard and allow himself to think the thoughts that the stone was meant to punish. 

As he carefully removed the guard that he had placed to protect himself from the stone, he realized, as he did, that Potter was entirely unable to clear his mind, or use any other Occlumency methods to order his thoughts. No wonder he’d been so at risk to the stone. 

With the guard removed, Severus steeled himself to do what he must. He deliberately and clearly thought,  _ Umbridge is a spineless criminal.  _

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The stone seared his palm, and Severus grit his teeth yet again. Once the initial pain faded, he realized that there was an oddly uncomfortable knot in his gut. A moment later, he recognized it as guilt. Severus felt guilty for his failure to teach Potter Occlumency. 

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Severus tried to assuage it, as he always did, with reminders that Potter was a poor student, that he hardly ever tried at any of his school work. 

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But the excuses felt hollow in the face of what Potter had been through, over and over, this entire school year. Severus had often heard Umbridge bragging about having Potter in detention– there had been times where she had mentioned that Potter had been in detention every day that week. 

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Those were hardly conditions conducive to learning Occlumency. A calm mind was crucial to learning the first step of Occlumency– clearing the mind– and Severus could not imagine that Potter would ever have been able to succeed when this torture was what he had to deal with in these detentions. 

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And of course, there was also the reason that Potter had first found himself in hot water with Umbridge– loudly proclaiming that the Dark Lord was back. 

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At the time, Severus had scoffed at Potter’s stupidity– and Severus did still think it had been rather imbecilic of Potter to draw Umbridge’s ire– but now, Severus was more focused on the realization that the Dark Lord’s return would have added to the mental turmoil Potter was in. 

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Severus’s internal clock tore him from his thoughts. It was nearly time for him to take another dose of Polyjuice Potion. The bottle was still in his robe pocket; he just needed to pull it out and gulp some of it down. 

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He looked up and saw that Umbridge was now absorbed in some paperwork. Severus hoped that she was absorbed enough to not notice when he ceased writing. 

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Moving slowly so as to not draw her eye with a quick motion, Severus reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle. A quick dart of his eyes confirmed that Umbridge was still involved in her paperwork, so Severus lifted the bottle to his lips and swallowed a dose. 

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Then he slowly slid the bottle back into his pocket. 

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Severus could probably pass off the bottle as just water, but he’d rather not risk her disbelief– a serious risk, given the line she had him writing– and a possible inspection of the contents of the bottle. So Severus would do his best to avoid letting her see him take his Polyjuice Potion every hour. 

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It took a strong exertion of his will to force himself to pick up the quill again, and an even stronger prompting to force himself to actually start writing again. Thankfully, it was somewhat easier to continue his momentum and continue writing lines than it was to start up again. 

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As he resumed writing, he attempted to slide his mind into a sort of trance where he could ignore most of the pain he was in.

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And so the time began to pass in a blur, a passage marked only by breaks to take his Polyjuice Potion and to think the occasional nasty thought about Umbridge. 

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By the time Umbridge finally cleared her throat, breaking Severus out of his trance, he’d begun to worry, distantly, about whether he’d have enough Polyjuice Potion to make it through the remainder of the detention. 

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Thankfully, and Severus never thought he would be grateful for this, Umbridge was making her way around her desk towards him.

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“Hands, Mr Potter,” Umbridge said, holding out her own hand. 

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Severus stiffly put the quill down, and even that small motion caused the pain in his hand to flare up. He tried to pull his left hand away from the desk, but found that it was still stuck firmly to the lace tablecloth. He looked back over at Umbridge as he tried again. She waved her wand, and this time it worked. 

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Reluctantly, he held out his hands for her to examine. 

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Umbridge sighed and disappointedly shook her head. “We clearly still have a lot of work to do. You’ll have to come back tomorrow at 7 pm.” 

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Severus froze at the thought of another night spent subjecting himself to this torture. Then he remembered the plan, and he managed to unclench his muscles. He stood up from the chair and took a step back towards the door. 

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Umbridge failed to react, so Severus took another step backwards. 

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“Good evening,” he forced himself to say, before turning and bolting out of her office. 

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Severus knew it was undignified, but if he stayed in her presence a moment longer, he was going to do something to ruin their case against her. And he wanted to see her on the boat to Azkaban more than he had wanted anything in years. He would do nothing to jeopardize his chance to see that happen.

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* * *

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As soon as he was clear of Umbridge’s office, Severus slowed to a slightly more sedate pace. His hands were in pain, and his top priority was to get to the Hospital Wing. Poppy was there, waiting for him, so she could document his injuries and promptly heal them as much as it was possible to heal injuries inflicted by dark artefacts. 

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Severus realized that he had no idea what time it was-- the hallways were nearly silent, so it must be long after curfew. 

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On the one hand, this was good, because it meant he was unlikely to run into any students. But on the other, it meant that Umbridge had likely always held Harry in detention for this ungodly amount of time. 

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It was a miracle Potter had been managing to turn anything in at all, what with all his time being taken up by these detentions with Umbridge. 

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Severus came to a halt and was startled to realize that he had already arrived at the Hospital Wing. He glanced down at his hands, which were still in horrific pain. He would have to knock on the door with some other body part and hope Poppy managed to hear him. 

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He decided to kick at the door, as that would result in the sharpest sound. He did so for a couple seconds, then paused to listen for footsteps. He heard nothing, so he kicked at the door again, slightly harder this time. 

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A moment later, he heard the welcome sound of Poppy’s approaching footsteps. The door swung open and Severus gratefully trudged into the– thankfully empty– infirmary. 

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“Severus? Are you alright?” Madam Pomfrey asked as she ushered Severus over to a waiting bed. 

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“Of course I’m not, you saw the state of Potter’s hands,” Severus said angrily. Then he held out his own hands and said, “See for yourself.” 

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Severus examined his wounds in detail for the first time since he’d left Umbridge’s office. 

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The scars on both his hands now looked as fresh as they would have on the day they’d been acquired– which, in a way, they were. The circular burn on his left palm was a vivid and shiny red. The cuts from the quill were still sluggishly bleeding over top the scars that Harry had. 

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As he stared at them, he felt the uncomfortable process of transforming back into his own body finally begin. 

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The uniform he was wearing tightened, and in some cases, ripped around his limbs. He looked up to make eye contact with Poppy. 

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“Let me get you a set of pajamas,” Poppy said, then turned to walk off. 

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Severus stopped her by saying, “Wait– pajamas?” 

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Poppy turned back to face him, hands on her hips. “Yes, pajamas. Did you really think I was going to let you go to your quarters alone after the evening you’ve had?” 

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“Well, yes,” Severus said, frowning. “I came here so you could collect the appropriate evidence and address my injuries.” 

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Poppy lifted one of her hands from her hips and pointed it directly at Severus’s chest. “It is my professional opinion that your health will be best served by spending the night here, so spending the night here is what you will do. Do  _ not _ make me stick you to that bed.” 

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Severus held up his hands in surrender. He should have known this was going to happen, really. 

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Poppy nodded in satisfaction and resumed her walk over to her linen cabinet. She was back within seconds, holding a set of plain blue pajamas. “While you get those on, I shall grab my camera and the forms to record the evidence.” 

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“Very well,” Severus said. He did not particularly want to spend the night in the Hospital Wing, but he did not have a sufficient aversion to it that would make it worth fighting Poppy over. Especially since it was late and he was exhausted.

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He glanced down at the far-too-small uniform that was still clinging to his body, and then shifted his gaze to his hands. It would be better to brave the pain of using his wand– which Poppy had thoughtfully placed on the bedside table– than to attempt to remove the uniform with his mangled hands. 

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So he steeled himself and prepared to cast the Switching Charm as quickly as he could. In one fluid motion, he reached down and plucked his wand off the table, immediately transitioning into the first wand movement of the charm. The uniform swapped out for the pajamas, and Severus immediately set his wand back down. 

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The act of grasping the wand, and then moving it precisely , had not been kind to the aggravated skin on the back of his right hand. 

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Severus cradled his hand carefully against his chest and sat down on the bed to wait for Poppy. 

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Moments later, he pulled his hands away from his chest, his mind finally processing a fact that he should have already known. His, Severus Snape’s, hands were permanently scarred now. The nature of the dark magic in the quill and the stone was such that the injuries had lingered even after he had transformed back into his own body. 

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The line on the back of his hand would never be quite as deep as Potter’s, but he suspected that it would be no less visible. 

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The sound of Poppy returning from her office tore Severus from his thoughts. As she approached, she said, “Oh, Severus. I should have remembered that getting changed would be difficult for you. I am so sorry.” 

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“I managed,” Severus said simply. “Let us get on with this so you can heal me.” 

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Poppy nodded and set two items onto the ground. A wave of her wand expanded the items into a tripod and a plain white table respectively. 

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“First of all, I am sorry to say that you will need to sign this form consenting to the use of this evidence in a court of law before we can properly get started,” Poppy said, setting a piece of parchment and a proper self-inking quill onto the table. 

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Severus grimaced, but picked up the quill anyways. He knew that it was necessary for him to sign the form prior to the collection of the evidence, but his hand would suffer for it. With a quick flourish, he signed his name, then dropped the quill immediately afterwards. 

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“Thank you,” Poppy said. She bustled off into her office, probably to duplicate the form and sign it herself, as a witness. When she returned, she was carrying a camera and she immediately secured the camera to the tripod and began to frame the shot. 

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“Set your right hand onto the table,” Poppy said, once she was done fiddling with the angle of the camera. 

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Severus did so, immediately looking away from his hand. 

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The process of collecting the evidence was relatively simple. Poppy took pictures of Severus’s hands from a variety of angles, then asked him a series of prescribed questions meant to– as objectively as possible– discern what had happened. 

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“Alright, Severus. That was the last one. I can now heal your hands,” Poppy finally said. 

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Severus nodded gratefully. 

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Poppy summoned, with little fuss, the particular potions that were needed to heal Severus’s hands– most likely because she had already used both of them earlier that day on Potter. 

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“I’m afraid these are going to scar quite visibly,” Poppy said as she rubbed the cream into the burn. 

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“I had assumed they would, given the scarring that Potter bore.” 

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Poppy stance went tense at this remark. “That bitch deserves to burn in hell,” she muttered emphatically. 

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“You will hear no arguments from me,” Severus said. 

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Before he knew it, Poppy had finished taking care of his hands.

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“We have a decision to make now,” Poppy said, sorting the completed paperwork into a neat stack. 

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“Yes,” Severus said. “When do we want to officially file the report.” 

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“I personally think that we should file the report now– and Minerva agrees with me– because Umbridge is simply too dangerous to leave in the castle. Minerva sends her regards, by the way, but she was called away by an emergency with her Gryffindors before you returned. It was already late enough that I told her I could handle the situation.”

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Severus’s brow creased as he contemplated their options. He had the initial impression that the process to prosecute Umbridge would take some time– but now that he thought about it, he didn’t see why it had to. 

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They already had plenty of evidence of her abuse of power, and now they just needed to get the evidence to the right people. And with their connections through the Order, they had an abundance of ‘the right people’ to choose from. 

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The frown slid off his features. “I agree that that would be best. Did you and Minerva discuss who to contact?” 

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“Minerva thinks that Kingsley would be best, but she said that you ought to have the final word on that.”

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Severus thought through the options and quickly came to the same conclusion that Minerva must have. “I agree. We ought to call Kingsley.” Then he glanced down and grimaced. 

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Poppy sighed. “Alright– but you’re not getting changed. I will  _ temporarily _ transfigure your pajamas into something suitable to greet Kingsley in. But as soon as we’re done meeting with him, you  _ will _ be going to bed. Here. In the Hospital Wing.” 

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Severus nodded. He’d vaguely hoped that he would be able to change and slip away, but it was clearly not to be. 

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Poppy quickly transfigured the pajamas into a simple pair of slacks and a sweater. Then she walked to the floo in her office, and Severus followed close behind. 

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“I’ll go ahead and make the call,” Poppy said, kneeling down on the cushion. 

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Severus took a step back to give her some space. Poppy made the call, but Kingsley took a while to respond. Severus supposed that it  _ was _ the middle of the night, but he was impatient to get the whole situation resolved so he could go to sleep. 

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“It is past midnight, so this had better be important,” Kingsley finally said, his voice rough from sleep.

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“Oh, it is,” Poppy said. “But it’s not something I want to discuss over floo, so if you could come through, I would appreciate it.” 

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“Very well,” Kingsley said. 

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Poppy got to her feet and stepped away from the fireplace. Moments later, Kingsley appeared a flash of green fire. 

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“What is so important that I had to come here at this time of night,” Kingsley asked, once he’d brushed the soot off of his robe. 

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Severus cleared his throat and took a step forward, holding up his hands so the scarring was clearly visible. “Both scars were inflicted by a dark artefact while the perpetrator thought I was Harry Potter.” 

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Kingsley blinked slowly. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that? And tell me who in the blazes we’re talking about.”

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Poppy cleared her throat. “I have all the paperwork to report the incident here,” Poppy said. “But the short of it is that Umbridge has been using a Black Quill and Ardere Saxo Malae on Harry Potter during detention. Tonight, Severus Polyjuiced himself with Mr Potter’s appearance and took his place in detention so we could gather evidence that would be admissible in court.”

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“And with that plan, you prevented Mr Potter from being further subjected to said dark artefacts,” Kingsley said. “Very clever. Would you allow me to look through the evidence so I can determine if it is sufficient to make an arrest?” 

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“Very much so,” Poppy said. She handed him the packet– which included the film of the pictures of Severus’s hands. 

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After several minutes that consisted of Kingsley hemming and hawing over the paperwork, he nodded firmly. “I firmly believe that I will be able to get an arrest warrant. However, it did take me some time for me to decide whether or not the evidence will be sufficient to actually prosecute her.” 

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“And?” Severus demanded impatiently. In his mind’s eye, he could practically  _ see _ Umbridge being loaded onto the boat to Azkaban, escorted by several Dementors, an expression of horror on her face. 

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“And I do believe that this,” Kingsley said, hefting the packet of evidence, “will be sufficient to land her with a one-way ticket to Azkaban.” 

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A satisfied look fell over Severus’s face, and a quick glance at Poppy revealed that she was just as pleased. 

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“How long will it take you to get the arrest warrant?” Poppy asked, after a moment had passed. 

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“Not long at all, though gathering the backup I’ll want may take a bit longer– I am assuming you want this wrapped up tonight.” 

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Severus nodded. 

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“Right, well, I’d best get going on that warrant and backup, then,” Kingsley said, stepping towards the fireplace. 

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“Best of luck to you,” Poppy said. 

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“Thank you. I’ll return here as soon as I can.” 

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Then Kingsley called out the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which was located in the Ministry, and disappeared. 

__

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“And now, we wait,” Poppy said. 

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Severus could already feel the insistent, pressing weight of exhaustion, but he pushed it back. He wanted to see this through to the end, and exhaustion was not going to stop him. 

__

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“Would you like to play a game of chess while we wait?” Poppy asked. 

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Severus had the feeling that it would not go terribly well for either of them, but there was little else to do to pass the time. “Alright,” he said. 

__

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Poppy gestured to a table with two chairs and a waiting chess set. Severus took one of the seats, and then they were off. 

__

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* * *

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The floo flared a bright green, and several people stepped through into Poppy’s office, breaking Severus’s concentration. 

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As he’d predicted, the game had not gone well for either of them– it had been more of a war of attrition than a strategy game, thanks to their sheer exhaustion, meaning he was more than happy to abandon it. 

__

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One of the people who’d stepped through the floo was Kingsley. 

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“I have the warrant,” Kingsley said, brandishing a piece of paper. 

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Severus grinned what he knew was a self-satisfied smirk. 

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“And you clearly got your backup, too,” Poppy said approvingly. 

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“Is there anything else you require of us before you go?” Severus asked. 

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“Well, yes,” Kingsley said. “We need to know where she is. We certainly don’t know where her quarters are.”

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In hindsight, this seemed like an obvious oversight. Thankfully, Poppy was more than able to give detailed and accurate directions to Umbridge’s quarters. 

__

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“And would you like to accompany us for the arrest?” Kingsley asked. “Ordinarily I wouldn’t offer, but, given the circumstances, I think you’ve both earned the right to watch– especially you, Severus.” 

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Severus mulled the question over as best as he could given that his thoughts were sluggish from the weight of his exhaustion. 

__

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He would deeply enjoy watching Umbridge be pulled from her bed in the middle of the night by officers of the law arriving to arrest her. But he was utterly exhausted, and the thought of a bed was as irresistible as a siren’s call. Further urging him to decline the offer was the realization that he would still be able to attend her trial– and, of course, he planned to be there when they put her on the boat to Azkaban. 

__

__

So he had to ask himself, was it worth it to watch Umbridge get arrested?

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He realized that he was shaking his head even before his mouth formed the words. “I will have to decline,” he said. 

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“Good. You need your rest,” Poppy said. “I will also decline.”

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“Very well,” Kingsley said. “Aurors– let’s head out.” 

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Then Kingsley, followed by the rest of the Aurors, marched out of Poppy’s office and towards Umbridge’s quarters. Severus stared after them for a moment.

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“Let’s get you to bed, then,” Poppy said. She moved to stand in the doorway of her office, holding the door open for Severus. He walked through it and led the way to his bed. 

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He sat down and said, “Would you like to cancel the transfiguration?”

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Poppy did so, and then she proceeded to brusquely bundle him into the bed. Severus was simply too tired to fight her as she pulled back the covers and gently pushed him back so he was lying down. Then, most painfully of all, she carefully tucked the covers around him. 

__

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The simple action managed to clear any lingering resentment he might have felt towards Poppy from being made to stay in the Hospital Wing overnight. Because it was difficult to feel that kind of petty anger towards someone who had just performed such an unnecessary, yet tender, gesture. 

__

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Poppy turned out the lights, and as she stepped out towards her quarters, she said, “Good night, Severus.” 

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“Good night, Poppy,” Severus returned. 

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As he lay there in the dark, Severus wondered if Potter had managed to sleep as peacefully after his own detentions. After all, Potter had never chosen to complain or to seek help, and so he had never been properly healed.

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The question continued to float through Severus’s mind as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one chapter left to go!! thank you so much to everyone who's commented, i really appreciate it <3 and this chapter was a Lot longer than the other ones, so I'd really appreciate a comment letting me know what you thought!!


	6. belong

The next morning, Severus woke up feeling reasonably refreshed. It was still early morning and a Saturday to boot, so the Hospital Wing was empty. 

To delay the moment when he had to think about everything that had happened yesterday, Severus immediately got up and changed into his own clothing, clothing which Poppy– or perhaps a house elf– must have placed on the bedside table after he had fallen asleep.

When he was done tidying up the area around his bed, he noticed that the transfigurations he’d performed on his sunglasses and stirring rod had reverted. He picked up the items and stowed them away in his pockets. 

Then Severus slipped out of the infirmary and set off for his own classroom. If Poppy had wanted him to stay for a morning checkup, she ought to have said so. 

Like the Hospital Wing, the hallways were sparsely populated, and Severus was able to make it to his classroom without interruption. Once there, he made a beeline for the supply cabinets and stowed the stirring rod inside. 

He still had the sunglasses, so he turned to his office, coming to a halt when he caught sight of something lying on top of one of the student desks. Severus corrected his course and picked up the item. 

It was Potter’s uniform robe. He must have left it here when Severus had told him to remove it– yesterday. It was only yesterday that Potter had exploded his potion, setting the rest of the day’s events into motion. 

As Severus stood there, holding Potter’s robe, he realized that Potter still knew nothing of what had happened. Even if the mutt had caught Potter up to the point where Severus was to take his place in the detention, neither of them would know that Umbridge had been arrested. That, even now, the toad was languishing in a holding cell at the Ministry, awaiting trial for her crimes. The thought of this brought a grim smile to Severus’s face, because it was only the beginning of the nightmare her life would soon become.

Beyond his urge to share the good news– though it was hard to admit even in the sanctity of his own mind– Severus wanted to lay eyes on the boy and be assured that he was safe. 

Severus’s experience in the detention had demonstrated explicitly that there was more to Potter than he had ever managed to see before. Severus still didn’t know, precisely, how many detentions Potter had been to. Though the depth of scarring Severus now bore was insignificant in comparison to the scar that was on Potter’s hand, suggesting that Potter had been through far more than Severus would like to think on. 

Severus might not know how many times Potter had knocked on that door, but he did know that Potter had to have been resilient to make it through those torture sessions on top of everything else that had going wrong this semester. 

It had been quite idiotic of Potter to not tell anyone what had been happening to him, but the strength of will it must have taken to make it through detention after detention gave Severus hope that not only would Potter someday grow into someone able to fulfill Trelawney’s prophecy, but that Potter would one day become someone who would  _ survive _ fulfilling the prophecy. 

Severus had always done his level best to avoid thinking about the prophecy. He had never been convinced that Potter would ever,  _ ever _ stand a chance against the Dark Lord, and that thought had always made his oath to protect Potter itch. 

But now… 

Now Severus knew that Potter was more than the vapid attention-seeker that Severus had always thought he was. With proper training, Potter could gain the skills he needed– skills like when to ask for help or how to quit while one was ahead. And, of course, the boy could use training in subjects such as advanced duelling and identification of dark objects.

Severus latched onto this thought– the thought that Potter needed training– and immediately began to think through who would be the best choice to teach the boy. 

Albus was out. He was simply too focused on the big picture to ever concentrate enough on Potter to properly train him. And, of course, Albus was currently too afraid of a connection between Potter and the Dark Lord to even look Potter in the eye. 

Minerva was out. She had been singing Potter’s praises for years now, and she had always been well-positioned to take on the task of training Potter– yet she had not. Whatever her reasoning, this fact alone was enough to discount her in Severus’s mind. 

Severus refused to even consider Black. Lupin was off– god knew where– running around with his werewolf friends. Hagrid didn’t even have a  _ wand. _

Severus frantically racked his mind, trying to think of someone who could train Potter, someone who could make sure Potter would survive the coming war, but he came up short. 

Then his brain landed on the option that should have been obvious from the beginning. Severus would have to be the one to give Potter the lessons he would need to survive. It was already nearly summer vacation though, which meant Potter would be going home. But Severus felt an urgent need to act on his new knowledge as soon as possible– maybe Potter could be convinced to accept summer lessons. 

If Severus couched the offer with enough reassurances that Potter would still be able to see his family and have some time off, Severus thought he could convince the boy to accept the offer. 

And if Severus was the one to give the lessons– and he would be– then he and Potter would eventually build a bond of trust. That would make it much,  _ much _ easier for Potter to learn Occlumency. And Occlumency was important enough that the lessons would be worth it, if only because they would eventually enable Severus to teach Potter Occlumency. 

Severus now had a concrete reason to go to Grimmauld Place. As he drew himself out of his reverie, he realized that he was still holding Potter’s robe. He may as well return the robe while he was at it. He kept it in his hand as he turned to walk to his office. 

With Umbridge out of the school, it should be safe to floo directly to Grimmauld Place. 

Once he arrived at his office, he paused first to order and consume a light breakfast. While he ate, he planned what he would say to Potter and Black. He now had three reasons to go see them this morning. Strategically speaking, it would be best if Severus intimated as though he only had one reason to be there, at least at first. 

After a moment of debating the pros and cons of each reason, Severus decided that he would start with Umbridge– this would put them in a more receptive mood to hear about his offer of private summer lessons. 

When he brought up the lessons, he’d be sure to only mention the academic aspects of the lessons. The other portions– on life lessons and Occlumency– could wait until they’d built a little more trust. And he’d be able to return the robe whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

Plan decided on, Severus hurried his way through the rest of his breakfast. Once he was done, he flooed away to Grimmauld Place. 

When he landed in the kitchen, his ears were met with the sounds of conversation. The air was filled with the smell of cooking bacon and scrambled eggs. Once Black and Potter realized Severus was there, they fell silent. 

“Snivellus? What are  _ you _ doing here?” Black spat, getting to his feet. 

Severus raised a single eyebrow. He should have remembered that Black would be combative. Severus placed his hand on his wand but refrained from drawing it. 

“I am here with information that concerns your precious godson,” Severus said, though his voice held less venom than it ordinarily would have. 

Potter perked up attentively at this. 

“How much did Black tell you of yesterday’s events?” Severus asked Potter, deciding to ignore Black entirely.

Potter glanced at Black. “Er– most of it?” 

Severus was truly going to have his work cut out for him. “Is that a question or a response?” he asked. 

Potter frowned. “I think it was most of it. He told me about how you and Professor McGonagall had made a plan to prosecute Umbridge, and that the plan required me to leave the castle. He just didn’t tell me what the plan was, exactly.” 

Severus nodded. For once, Black had exercised the singular brain cell he had bouncing around in his empty head and not told Potter too much information. Severus realized, then, that he didn’t quite know how Potter would react to finding out that Severus had taken his place in the detention. “Good, then I do not need to go over that again.” 

Black opened his mouth, probably to say something imbecilic. 

Severus continued speaking before Black could actually say anything. “I came here to inform you of the results of yesterday’s activities. Last night, Dolores Umbridge was arrested– I believe she was charged under abuse of power– and she will stand trial sometime in the coming weeks. It is likely that she will spend the rest of her life in Azkaban.” 

“Azkaban?” Potter asked, shaking his head. “But– what? What for?”

Black walked around the table to stand by where Potter was seated– glaring at Severus as he did so. Black opened his mouth to speak again, but since the man had placed a comforting hand on Potter’s shoulder, Severus subsided and let Black speak. 

“Pup, she’s going to Azkaban because she tortured you. Literally tortured you. She isn’t getting away with that,” Black said softly, though the effect was ruined by the second glare he sent at Severus. 

“The mutt is right,” Severus said reluctantly, when Potter still looked as though he wanted to argue. 

“It wasn’t all that bad,” Potter protested weakly. 

Severus was stunned into silence by this casual remark. Did Potter truly believe that? Even without knowing that Severus had experienced the detentions himself, Potter should know that the scars on his hands were evidence enough that it really was ‘that bad’. 

“Harry, listen to me,” Black said, sinking to his knees so his face was level with Potter’s and placing his hands on Potter’s shoulders. “It really was that bad. Umbridge deserves to go to Azkaban for what she did to you. Not only that, she deserves to rot in hell for what she did to you, but Azkaban is a good first step.” 

Potter looked away from Black’s face and shrugged uncomfortably. 

Black sighed and released Potter’s shoulders. Then he got to his feet and glared at Severus again. “What are you still doing here?” 

“There is one more additional piece of information. It has been decided that Potter needs to attend additional lessons this summer. I will be covering topics such as Advanced Duelling and Warding.” Potter looked like he wanted to protest, but Severus continued, “You will, of course, have plenty of time off to relax with your family, but with the escalation of the war, there is no more time to waste.” 

Potter remained still, a slight frown on his face, but Black reacted more violently. 

“Why should  _ you _ be the one to give  _ my _ godson lessons?” Black spat. “I am more than capable–”

“Wait,” Potter said, interrupting. “If I had these lessons, would I have to spend less time at the Dursley’s?” 

Severus had to pause to consider the odd question, and in the gap, Black continued to speak. 

“That’s right– the blood wards– Dumbledore would never let these lessons happen,” Black said, seeming angrier at Dumbledore than at Severus. 

“Potter– do you mean to say that you do not want to spend time with your relatives?” Severus asked, a new idea beginning to form in his mind. 

Potter snorted derisively. “I definitely do not want to spend any more time with them than I absolutely have to.” 

“I have a plan then, but it will require your cooperation, Black,” Severus said. 

Black looked intrigued, though still mutinous, and Potter looked curious and even a bit hopeful. 

“If Black and I worked together, then I believe we could arrange a solution. Potter would spend the summer here at Grimmauld Place with you, Black. Officially– though discreetly– Potter would be staying with me, since I am not a felon. And both of us would give the aforementioned lessons.” 

“Do you really think that would work?” Potter asked. 

Severus nodded. “With the three of us working in conjunction, Albus would have no legal basis with which to stop us.” 

Even Black looked thoughtful now. 

“Sirius,” Potter said, barely loud enough for Severus to hear, “this plan sounds great– it sucks in a lot of ways, but we’d get to spend the summer together, and I think that’s worth it.” 

Severus had to restrain a snort at the euphemism– Potter was clearly referring to Severus’s involvement when he said that the plan sucked.

Potter’s plea was enough to sway Black. “If you want this, then we’ll make it happen,” Black said. 

“So, you’ll be able to work with me?” Severus asked, just to make absolutely sure that Black understood the repercussions of agreeing to this plan. 

“So long as you’re able to work with me,” Black replied with a grin. 

Severus stared at Black blankly, a little thrown by the sudden lack of hostility. 

“Uh, so how are you going to make it happen?” Potter asked, looking between Severus and Black.

“I rather thought that Black and I would contact Dumbledore for a meeting and confront him together,” Severus said, glad that the conversation was back on relatively familiar ground.

“That works for me,” Black said. “The sooner the better, though. I don’t want to risk Dumbledore taking too long to respond.” 

“Why don’t you go write the letter now, then?” Potter asked. “Just to make sure, you know?” 

Black glanced at Severus, then back at Potter. “Will you alright being alone with– er– Snape if I do?” 

Potter nodded. 

“Right. I’ll be back in a couple minutes with a draft for you to look over,” Black said. 

Severus got the feeling that Black wanted to say something else, but then the moment passed as Black left the room. 

Another moment passed in awkward silence before Severus remembered the last thing he had come here to do. He stepped away from the fireplace, walking around the table towards Potter. Then Severus came to a halt and offered the robe he’d been holding the entire time. 

“You left this in my classroom,” Severus said. 

Potter looked startled for a moment, then reached out to take the robe. 

As soon as the robe was clear of Severus’s hands, Potter froze. 

Severus glanced down to see what had prompted this reaction. And then he froze at the sight of his newly scarred hands. New scars that Potter had just seen. Severus immediately shoved his hands into his pockets. 

The motion snapped Potter out of whatever trance he had been in. “What happened,” Potter demanded, his voice shaking ever so slightly, “to your hands?” 

Severus had hoped that Potter would never find out about what he had done. It was too late for that now, though. Severus had to take ownership of the plan and hold his ground– taking Potter’s place had been the right thing to do, and Potter would not convince him otherwise. 

“Someone had to attend your detention. It had to be someone whose testimony would be admissible in a court of law,” Severus said firmly. 

“But you’re scarred now! See, this is why I didn’t want anyone to find out about it! Now another person’s been hurt because of me–”

“I chose to Polyjuice myself as you,” Severus said, cutting Potter off. “You hardly held a wand against my throat and forced me to do it, so I fail to see why you would have any culpability in this situation.” 

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been there in the first place!” Potter exclaimed. “You were pretending to be me! How could it not be my fault and– and wait, you used Polyjuice? How the hell did you get my hair?” 

Severus cleared his throat. “Minerva was in charge of acquiring your hair,” Severus said quickly. Then, normally, “But the point remains. I made the decision to take your place. Regardless of your involvement, if I had not seen the necessity, I would not have agreed to the plan.”

Potter’s brow creased in frustration. He thrust out his hand to show his own copy of the scar. 

“See this? It’s the same scar you have– a scar that you wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for me!” Potter said. 

“What’s this?” Black asked, walking back into the kitchen. 

“Your godson is being even more moronic than usual,” Severus said, in as bored of a tone as he could manage. Black began to bristle, so Severus continued, “He seems to be under the impression that he is responsible for what happened to me while I collected evidence against Umbridge.” 

Black immediately shifted gears and pulled Potter into a hug. “Harry, it was  _ not your fault _ . You did not hold Snape at wandpoint, you did not  _ Imperius _ anyone, and this is not your fault.” 

Potter was shaking his head against Black’s chest. Severus began to back up towards the floo. Black appeared to have the situation handled, and Severus wouldn’t know how to talk to Potter about this anyways. 

As Severus drew near the fireplace, Black lifted his head from where it’d been buried in Potter’s hair. 

“Are you going now, then?” Black asked. 

Severus halted. “You seem to have the situation under control, so yes.” 

Black relinquished his hold on Potter and pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket. “You ought to look this over before you go– oh, and we have some breakfast left, if you’d like to have something to eat while you go over it.” 

Severus was taken aback by the seemingly genuine offer. He’d already had breakfast, of course, so he had no need to stay. He opened his mouth to politely decline, but then he looked over at Potter and was shocked to see that Potter was looking between him and Black, a pleading look in his eyes. 

For a moment, Severus teetered between accepting and declining. Then he realized that this would be the perfect time to initiate bonding with Potter, for the purposes of eventual Occlumency lessons, and landed on the decision to accept. 

“I can stay for breakfast,” Severus said slowly, feeling as though the world had turned on its head. 

Black handed Severus the letter he’d written up, and then he went over the stove to load up a plate with breakfast food. “I hope scrambled is alright,” Black said. 

Severus was honestly not hungry, but he nodded anyways as he picked up the letter and made his way to an empty seat. 

He’d just unfolded the letter when Black set a plate down in front of him. 

“Thank you, Black,” Severus said, though the words felt wholly unnatural. 

“You’re very welcome, Snape,” Black said with a lopsided smile. Then he walked back around the table and sat down next to Harry again. 

Black and Potter started up a benign conversation about some Muggle movie Black wanted to see, and Severus tuned them out as he began to work at forcing down his second breakfast of the day.

As Severus sat there at Black’s kitchen table, forcing down a meal he did not need and only half listening to Black and Potter converse, an odd feeling of peace fell over him. 

Perhaps his plan to mentor Harry wouldn’t be so terrible, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! Thank you so much for reading! Unfortunately, this is all I've written for this universe and all I ever will write for this universe. If you're interested in more Snape and Harry gen, I do have another complete work whose sequel I am currently working on, linked in the same series as this fic. Finally, please don't forget to leave a comment! I love to hear what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> make sure to follow my tumblr [waitingondaisies](https://waitingondaisies.tumblr.com) for sneak peaks and updates! and don't forget to comment, they keep me motivated to write and make updates come faster!!


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